


Like Music to my Ears

by Saturn_the_Almighty



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Background Nork, Canon-typical swearing, Cute, Docnut, Domestic, F/F, Fluff, Freckles is a dog, Grimmons, Human Delta, Human Junior, Implied/Referenced Sex, Just so much sweetness, Kimballina, Kisses, Lasagna is mentioned quite a bit, M/M, Platonic Churboose, Tuckington - Freeform, Wash gets a cat, dinner date, fine arts au, human theta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-01-15 17:28:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 62,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12325551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saturn_the_Almighty/pseuds/Saturn_the_Almighty
Summary: They all go at their own pace, but when they say it... it's music to their ears. "I love you."OrA Fine Arts AU that no one wanted but I'm doing it anyway because I'm a self-indulgent piece of shit.





	1. You're bathed in golden light

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY I finally got my account and now I can post! Bizarrebird inspired me to make this, so you should go check out their work, it's pretty awesome. This is my first time writing a fic, so constructive criticism is welcome (because I need it). Enjoy~!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning...

Donut sat up in bed, looking out the window at the morning snowfall that covered everything in a delicate blanket of white. The smell of chocolate lured him downstairs where Doc was making something magnificent. He was wearing Donut's pink apron and a pair of violet pajama pants. His foot tapped the floor as he hummed a tune.

"What're you doing up so early, mister?" asked Donut, leaning on the doorframe sleepily.

"Oh, Good morning, sleepyhead." Doc turned around, leaving a bowl of something simmering on the stove. "And happy birthday."

Donut looked over at the stove. The bowl was filled with melting chocolate. Next to it, on the counter, was another bowl filled with what was undoubtedly pancake batter. Donut put two and two together and made a small noise. He ran over to Doc, bouncing excitedly.

 "Are you making chocolate pancakes? For me?" Doc smiled, poking Donut's nose with his spoon. "Of course. Anything for you."

Donut blushed, trying to conceal his giggles. "Well don't keep me waiting, I'm hungry." Donut teased. He sat down at the kitchen island and tapped the countertop excitedly. After about four seconds Donut hopped down and announced the he was going to get dressed. Doc chuckled. "Ok, sweet."

Donut blushed again at that term of endearment and rushed upstairs. Doc had a way with words that had Donut practically fainting. Maybe it was the honey-sweet tone of voice. Maybe it was the fact that those words were meant for Donut and only Donut. Either way, Donut as internally screaming by the time he was done getting dressed and hoped his face wasn't still red as a tomato.

Soon, the pancakes were done and Donut was fabulous. Doc called up the stairwell, plate of pancakes in hand.

"Donut! Pancakes~!" He could hear Donut squeal and thump down the stairs. Donut was wearing a pale pink skirt with faded flower print and a white button-up blouse with a ribbon tied around the collar. "How do I look?" He asked, playing with the hem of the skirt.

Doc almost dropped the plate of pancakes. "Beautiful." He said. "Oh- Uh, pancakes are getting cold." He said, setting the plate down and grabbing some strawberry jam from the fridge. Donut's eyes darted around the table, eyeing all the different toppings. "I love my birthday" he whispered. Doc smiled. He loved it too. It was worth the extra effort to see Donut's face.

"... I got something for you. Well, two somethings." Doc said after he finished his second pancake. Donut looked up, a smear of chocolate marring his delicate lips. Doc cleared his throat and picked up a small box that was laying on the coffee table in the living room. He set it down in front of Donut and wiped the chocolate off with one swift movement.

Donut wiped his hands off on a napkin and slowly pulled off the lid. Inside was a bottle of horribly fabulous, horribly expensive shiny gold liquid eyeliner. His jaw dropped just the slightest bit and his eyes darted back up to meet Doc's grinning face.

"You didn't." Breathed Donut.

"Oh I did. I saw they way you were looking at it in the store. You aren't exactly subtle, Donut." Said Doc.

Donut could feel his face heating up. No, he wasn't subtle in the slightest. "Thank you so much." He said, trying to contain the hugs smile creeping across his face.

Doc picked up the empty plates and brought them to the sink.

"Oh, and the other thing I got you... I didn't really get it per se. Caboose is having an art show downtown and everyone's going to be there. I thought you might like to go there'll be some new faces you haven't seen yet. A few new friends he made."

Donut was on the verge of passing out. Moving in with Doc had to be the best decision he had ever made. Aside from ditching his asshole dad, of course. Doc would always go out of his way to make Donut happy. This was only the second birthday Donut hadn't hated. Doc was the reason both times.

"I'm going to go get ready! Thanks for doing the dishes!" Donut called as he sprinted back up the stairs to put on his new eyeliner. Gold was his favorite shiny color. 

__

* * *

 

Doc was shuffling into a pale periwinkle sweater when Donut knocked on his door. 

"Come in" he said simply. Donut walked in, his usually confident steps faltering.

"What's wrong, sweet?" he asked with genuine concern. Donut sat down on Doc's bed with a sad 'fwump'.

"My dad tried to call me." He said with bitterness and sorrow that Doc rarely ever heard. Donut mentioned his dad on occasion, but never elaborated. It was clear something had happened but Doc never asked. Until now.

"Donut... What happened between you? I- I know I shouldn't pry and psychology is more Dr. Grey's expertise but I... I want to know how I can help you." Said Doc, sitting down next to Donut and slowly letting his hand rest on his shoulder.

Donut let out a shaky breath like he had been holding it in for a long time.

"My dad wasn't what you would call a caring parent. He never was. Never tried to be. He gave my mother nothing and left me with even less.. He would verbally abuse me time and time again and made me feel like I was-" Donut's voice cracked.

"Like I was nothing." Donut let his head rest against Doc's shoulder and let out another shaky breath.

"He would hit my mother sometimes. When he thought I was asleep. She couldn't stand it. She made him leave and I went to school and I haven't seen him in three years and I don't want to... I don't want to see or hear him ever again. Just the sound of his voice..." Donut bit his lip. "Ah, look at me. I'm going to ruin my makeup." he said, faking a laugh.

Doc held Donut in his arms for a while. They said nothing, and Donut was grateful for that. He didn't think he could say another word with his voice cracking. And for a singer, that wasn't a good thing.

"We should get going or we'll be late." Doc said after his arm fell asleep.

He got up and stretched, pulling on his heavy wool coat to protect from the February chill. Donut nodded and got his own coat, a light grey with big pink buttons. He followed Doc downstairs to the front door where they pulled on their shoes and headed out.

The art gallery downtown was only a five minute walk from where they lived and they were willing to brave the cold for that long. Donut put his arm around Doc's and breathed in the cold air.

"What if they don't like me?" Donut asked suddenly. "Caboose's new friends."

"What do you mean? Of course they'll like you." Said Doc in a confident tone. Everybody liked Donut.

"What if... What if they don't like me because I'm..." Donut awkwardly gestured to the entirety of himself and Doc scoffed.

"What, because you look more fabulous than they ever could without even trying?"

Donut blushed. "Well, that's true but-"

Doc cut him off, stopping abruptly and looking at Donut with his big, brown eyes. He stood there for a moment, his breath filling what little space there was between them with warmth. He took his hands and cupped Donut's face with tenderness and care. He let the silence speak as he leaned in and placed a swift kiss on Donut's lips.

"Look at me, Donut. You are golden." He said.

Donut could hear every heartbeat is his ears. Doc laced their fingers together and started walking again. Donut smiled to himself, no doubt looking like a tomato again despite the cold.

You are golden.


	2. A smile upon your face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some cute platonic Churboose because...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter because I was bored and inspired. I have no idea when the next chapter is going to be out, probably within the week idk.

The walls were white, the lights were white but the paint was blue. Every different shade spread across the canvasses in lively strokes and happy splatters. Caboose stood by the doorway and said hello to everyone who came in, his face sporting a smile as bright as the sun. Church stood beside him, his neutral expression barely wavering.

“Ah! More friends!” Caboose squealed as Donut and Doc walked in. Church nodded to them and cocked his head back toward the far corner of the room.

“The music fuckers are over there. So are the other nerds.” He said in a playfully insulting tone.

Caboose waved goodbye to the pair as they made their way through the crowd to meet the others. Church tore himself away from Caboose for a moment to see what thoughts everyone had on Caboose’s work. He found himself drawn to one in particular. His favorite, one he hadn’t gotten to look at for long when they were setting up. Caboose had insisted they have apple cider because ‘it’s cold out and everyone should be warm’. So Church had spent his time getting apple cider instead of looking at Caboose's art.

Church stood looking at the small square of canvas covered in cobalt blue paint with a pale blue balloon right in the middle. The balloon had a smiley face. Church found himself smiling too until he was shaken out of his thoughts by a disgusted scoff. He whipped his head around, coming face to face with a rather uptight looking man in a dark suit.

“Is something wrong?” Church asked through gritted teeth.

“No, I just find it appalling that people still pay to see childish splatters of paint that they call ‘art.’” The man said. Church clenched and unclenched his fist. “Well, you paid to see it, didn’t you?” He retorted, straining to keep his composure. The man’s eyebrow twitched.

“I came purely to see what all the commotion is about. I still don’t understand why everyone likes this artist so much. He’s obviously mentally ill or something…” the man mused, not caring who he offended.

Church straightened his back and walked right back to the front door, tugging on Caboose’s arm until the taller man looked over.

“What’s wrong, Church? Are you okay? You look like you need to punch something. Just don’t use my wall again.” Said Caboose, not dropping his smile for a second.

“No… Well yeah, maybe I could use something to punch but that’s not the point. There’s this asshole here who says your art sucks. If he’s being mean to you just… just come talk to me, okay?” Church mumbled, glaring at the man from across the room.

Caboose ruffled Church’s carefully styled hair. “It’s okay. I won’t let him be mean to me. But if he doesn’t like the things I paint that’s okay too. I don’t make people like me. They just do. Or they don’t. Sometimes they say I hit my head and I tell them ‘Yes I did’. I’m so tall I sometimes hit my head on the doorframe because I forget to duck.”

Church couldn’t help smirking at that. “Yeah, we really need to get you a new apartment. Someplace with ten foot tall ceilings.” He said, trying to smooth his hair back down.

“But seriously. Some people just don’t understand your genius. Just know that I understand you… even if no one else does. Okay buddy?” Church put his hand on Caboose’s shoulder. Caboose nodded and his smile widened. “I know. That’s why you’re my best friend.” He said and wandered off to tell people about his art.

* * *

 

“So, are you the artist? I see you like the color blue…” Said the man in the dark suit as he eyed Caboose’s baby blue button-up. Caboose nodded and took a sip of his apple cider.

“Yep. I think blue is a really nice color. It’s the color of the sky, which is really pretty and I think it’s also the color of friendship. I don’t see why everyone thinks it’s a sad color. Maybe because rain looks blue, but it’s more of a grey color. And besides, I like the rain it makes me feel happy because I know it makes all the flowers feel happy.” Caboose waffled on.

The man in the dark suit sighed. “You really are a child.” He muttered. Caboose cocked his head to the left, his long chestnut hair disrupted from the loose hair tie it was in.

“What do you mean? I’m not a child. I’m almost twen-” The man cut him off with a glare.

“I mean you act like a child. You can’t control the volume of your voice, nor do you have any real talent. It must be true. You hit your head when you were small. That must have made you like this. Mentally ill. No wonder you have no friends.” The man shook his head disapprovingly. Caboose furrowed his brow. The last light from his smile faded away and he was left feeling… feeling blue. He fought back his tears as he hurried off to find the bathroom. It was the only quiet place he could be alone.

Caboose knew he should have gone to Church, but it was too much for him to have everyone see him. He always got these looks when people saw him cry. Looks that even he could tell were piteous.

Church cursed loudly as he rounded the corner and stomped down the hall to the bathroom. He shoved open the door and found Caboose staring at a faint trickle of water coming out of the faucet. “Caboose?” He said. Caboose didn’t answer. “Caboose? What did that fucker say to you? Did he say-”

Caboose looked up at Church, his eyes red from crying. “Now I know why people think blue is a sad color. Because that’s what everything looks like when you’re sad…” Church’s hands trembled as pulled Caboose into a hug.

“Caboose… You’re the happiest person I know and it feels like my whole world is thrown off balance if you’re not smiling. Blue can be a sad color. But to you and to me it’s a happy color. Blue reminds me of you. Every time I look at the sky I’m reminded of you painting. Every time I see the rain I’m reminded of you watering the flowers outside your window.”

Church let go of Caboose to wipe his eyes on his sleeve. “It breaks my fucking heart to see you pulled down by everyone who doesn’t believe in you. But that’s why you’re my best friend. You keep getting back up and smiling as if nothing happened. You’re my best friend because I understand you… and you understand me. Blue is my favorite color… and my favorite person is you.”

Caboose burst into tears. Happy ones this time. Church dragged a hand through his black hair. “Fuck that was so sappy.” He grumbled. Caboose gave him one of his signature heart-melting smile and hugged Church again, this time almost cracking his spine. “You’re my best friend too, Church!” He wailed.

Church mumbled to himself and grabbed Caboose’s hand. He dragged him back out into the crowd of people, purposely passing the man in the dark suit to flip him off. Twice. Church stopped in front of his favorite painting, the one of the balloon.

“What’s this one about?” He asked, knowing that Caboose loved to talk about his pieces.

“Oh, that one’s you! I call it ‘Best Friend.’’ He gave Church a smile and picked up another cup of cider. Church stared at the painting for far too long. “Fuck.”

Caboose was just too perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Church: *clutches his chest* "Fuck, Caboose! You're going to give me a heart attack if you keep being so pure!"


	3. Too much sweetness for you alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh yes, the moment we've all been waiting for! A longer chapter! Enjoy.

Huddled in the corner of the art galley under a massive canvas covered in blue glitter and plastic flowers was a group of people. Or, as Church called them, the music fuckers. They were Caboose’s close friends and by extension Donut’s as well.

The group consisted of all the people Caboose met while at Valhalla School for the Fine Arts. They still remained friends after three years, which wasn’t that surprising considering none of them moved from the town after they graduated. There was Caboose and Church, of course, and there were other familiar faces who Donut knew and loved.

There was Tucker, who claimed he had spent the night with countless girls and somehow also managed to care of his child and practice Clarinet. Donut had always doubted the first part but Tucker was an astounding Clarinetist and father so he must have practiced both quite a bit.

Second, there was Grif. Anyone but his closest friends would say he was the laziest person they had ever met. His closest friends, on the other hand, would say that he is the laziest prodigy they had ever met. He may be a little on the chubby side and duck out of conversations all the time to get snacks, but he played the Cello with a surprising delicacy and finesse that none of the others possessed.

Sarge was the oldest in the group, having finally decided to pursue his hidden love of the Piano. He enjoyed flaunting his talent whenever he could. That included challenging Grif to multiple ‘Who’s the best Pianist’ competitions and then laughing in his face when he was horribly defeated. Sarge also liked to play at the local theatre once a week and play for three hours straight. No one knew why he insisted upon being called ‘Sarge’ but no one questioned it.

Donut and Doc walked up to the group hand in hand, both holding cups of cider. Donut noticed three new faces and gripped Doc’s hand tighter. Doc tapped Caboose on the shoulder.

“Do you want to introduce us to your new friends?” He asked, his soft voice almost swallowed by the background noise.

Caboose smiled and removed his hand from Church’s shoulder. He carefully made his way around the group, stopping behind a man with bleached blonde hair and a scar running down the left side of his lips and down his chin. The man tensed as Caboose let his hands rest lazily on his shoulders.

“This is Washington. He’s named after a state and plays a tiny Cello like Grif.” Said Caboose, grinning with joy at the opportunity to introduce his cool new friends. Grif scoffed at the idea of a tiny Cello.

The man waved awkwardly and wiggled out of Caboose’s grasp. “You can call me Wash. And I play the violin.” He said. “I’m in the same orchestra as Grif and Tucker.” Grif grunted in acknowledgment.

Caboose felt like everyone had gotten to know Wash and moved on to a red haired woman standing next to him.

“This is Carolina! She’s scary when she gets angry and is a ballerina. And she’s also named after a state.” Carolina nodded a bit stiffly and patted Caboose’s hand.

“Yeah, I'm a dancer. I met Caboose on my morning run. He said he liked my tattoos and asked if I wanted to come see his art show.” Caboose nodded and turned to the woman standing next to Carolina. She had chocolate brown curls and a huge band-aid over her right cheek.

“I don’t know who you are but you’re also scary and pretty.” He said cheerily and moved back to Church’s side.

The woman laughed. “Oh, I’m scary. Not nearly as much as Lina though, I assure you. My name’s Vanessa Kimball. I’m Lina’s dance partner. We met when she gave me this bitch.” Kimball pointed to the bandage on her cheek. “She'll tell you all about it later. It’s kind of embarrassing… for her.”

Carolina chuckled. “Yeah, I guess so.” She eyed Donut who was trying to hide behind Doc. “You know…” She narrowed her eyes, causing Donut to shrink back even more.

“I fucking wish I could pull of that kind of skirt.” She said with a smile. “My hips are all wrong though. You must be Donut.” She held out her hand and Donut shook it tenderly.

“Yeah, that’s me. His shoulders relaxed and Doc gave him an encouraging smile. “I’m a singer. I’m in the Valhalla Choir, but I write my own songs sometimes.” He smiled sheepishly. Kimball nodded appreciatively. “Nice. Did you go to the same school?”

Donut shook his head. “No. It was too expensive. I went to… Um.” He looked down at the floor. “Blood Gulch Community College. They had singing lessons there and it was the only place I could afford.” He shrugged.

Wash, who had been relatively silent until now, piped up excitedly. “Cool! My sisters went there! They both moved to the other side of the country though.”

Donut smiled. Caboose’s new friends were a lot more accepting than he thought they would be. Everyone started up their own conversations and after roughly ten minutes of getting to know one another, Caboose was tugging on Church’s sleeve and begging to go home.

“Chill the fuck out, Caboose. What?” He finally turned his full attention to the taller man and was met with Caboose’s pleading puppy eyes.

“Church, I wanna go home. I’m tired.” He pleaded.

Church grumbled. “Fine. Hey bitches, Caboose and I are going to head home. You can still hang out though. Don’t let us stop you. I heard the new bar downtown is really good. They make kickass pretzels and shit. I think it was called… Mother of Invention or someshit.” He said, placing his arm in the crook of Caboose’s and walking towards the exit.

Grif was fiddling with his shirt sleeve and making tiny whining noises. Tucker knew his behavior had to be about the mention of pretzels and he decided to end Grif’s misery.

“Okay, raise your hand if you want to go to that bar.” Everyone raised their arm, Grif almost ripping his out of its socket with how much force he used. The group shuffled out of the art gallery and made their way down the block, Tucker leading the way with Wash, who had stuck by Tucker’s side all afternoon.

* * *

 

“So, I’ve never seen you at orchestra practice before. What’s that about?” Asked Tucker once the silence threatened to become unbearable. Wash was snapped out of his thoughts and looked embarrassed.

“Oh, I just moved here three weeks ago. I’m still kinda new to town. The only thing I’m used to is being in an orchestra.” Wash admitted. Tucker nodded.

“Yeah, orchestra is cool. I could show you around town sometime, as long as I’m not at practice or work or with Junior.” Tucker said. Wash cocked his head to one side. “Who’s Junior?”

Wash could her an audible sigh from Grif behind him. Tucker’s eyes were positively sparkling.

“Well, Junior is only the sweetest child in all of Valhalla! He’s mine. I love him to death. Here, I’ll show you a picture.” Tucker pulled out his phone and began to show Wash more than one picture of his ‘sweet child’. Wash had to admit though, Junior was pretty cute. He had Tucker’s smile and his soft brown eyes.

Tucker was about to tell Wash the story of how he got glitter dumped in his hair and still found it two years later when Grif shouted at them.

“Hey lovebirds! We’re here.” The pair stopped and backtracked a couple steps. They had been so engrossed in their conversation they had walked past the front door. The group all filed into the Mother of Invention and picked a large table in the back corner. Grif left to order eight pretzels and three large orders of fries. No one bothered to argue.

“So, Carolina. I think you owe us the story of how you fucked up Kimball’s face now.” Said Wash as he sat down next to Tucker. Kimball blushed. “It isn’t that bad. At least she didn’t draw blood.” She said. Carolina leaned back in her chair.

“Yeah, okay. So… It was the first class of the semester, which was just a couple days ago. We were supposed to pick partners that day but not everyone had showed up. So I was just stretching, minding my own business when ‘Nessa walks past me and I kick her in the face! I didn't mean to. She screeches and clutches the side of her face.”

Donut gasped and covered his mouth in surprise.

“So, I’m freaking out, thinking I hit her eye and she gives me this look.” Carolina shakes her head. “Anyone but me would have fainted under that gaze.” Kimball playfully punched Carolina in the shoulder.

”Anyway, I was super embarrassed and I crouched down and told her I was ‘so sorry and I would pay for her medical expenses.’ She took her hand away and there was this huge fucking bruise right on her cheek. I probably gave the impression that it was much worse than it was.” Carolina smiled sheepishly. “She told me the only way I could make it up to her was to be her partner. Because ‘anyone who can kick like that is bound to be a good dancer’ according to her.”

Kimball leaned on Carolina’s shoulder. “So yeah, that’s how we became inseparable dance partners.”

Donut cooed from his seat next to Doc. Carolina scoffed but didn’t protest.

Grif managed to break the silence with his balancing skills. He was carrying eight baskets of food in his arms. He had insisted on bringing all the pretzels back to the table at once and wouldn’t let anyone help him. He set down the food and went back to get the fries, mumbling happily to himself about finally getting to try the food here.

The conversation shifted to the topic of Donut’s songwriting and he enthusiastically pulled out his phone and showed Carolina the songs he had written. She and Kimball seemed impressed. Donut handed his phone to Wash next, who had to lean over Tucker to grab it. Tucker noted that Wash smelled like apple candy. The good kind.

He teased Donut about not writing in a clarinet part but Donut brushed him off, saying that the clarinet wasn’t a good instrument to be paired with vocals. Tucker began to whine and Wash turned his attention to Sarge who was sitting to his left. He was idly picking at his pretzel and tapping the table with his left hand.

“So, you play the piano? Is it as excruciating as Grif says?” He asked, trying to lighten the mood.

Sarge grunted. “Son, Grif is a wimp. He’ll whine about anything and everything. Piano is passion. Sure, it can be tough sometimes, but when I’m in the moment it’s like nothing else matters. Only the keys. Only the sweet melodies I create. To me, it isn’t excruciating. To me, it’s beautiful. I don’t doubt it’s the same for you with your violin.”

Wash was speechless. That wasn’t what he had expected. But it wasn’t a bad thing. He nodded slowly, taking in the eloquent words Sarge had just said and he let his eyes drift back to Sarge’s finger tapping against the table.

Sarge must have noticed. He stopped and gave Wash a sidelong glance. “I have a performance tomorrow at ten. Gotta practice, make sure I know the piece inside and out. Hell, by tonight I should know how to play it in my sleep!” He chuckled.

Wash understood that. Practicing non-stop, making sure you know the movements, making sure you know the sound. He had spent many a sleepless night perfecting his performance until he could play it flawlessly. Even in an orchestra with seven violinists, one could still tell the difference if one player made the slightest slip up.

Tucker nudged Wash in the ribs, knocking him out of his thoughts.

“Wash, look.” He whispered, pointing to Grif who seemed to be focused on something across the room.

Wash followed Grif’s gaze, his eyes falling upon a tall, lanky man with red hair and a pair of glasses perched delicately upon his pointy nose. There wasn’t anything particularly extraordinary about him, save for the fact that where his left arm should have been there was an expensive looking prosthetic.

Grif caught Tucker eyeing him and snapped out of his daze. “What?” He asked, a slight edge in his voice.

“Nothing. I didn’t know you had a thing for amputees.” Tucker teased. “Whatever” Grif sighed and ignored him, instead picking up his half-eaten pretzel and finishing it off.

* * *

 

Wash had to admit this group of odd musicians (and dancers) was growing on him. He hadn’t known them for very long and yet he found himself admiring the special connections they all had. Even if they couldn’t see it, Wash knew they all cared for one another.

Carolina and Donut had already hit it off and were conversing in low tones across the table. Doc had wrapped his arm around Donut’s shoulder and was quietly eating his pretzel, seldom saying a word.

Kimball seemed to enjoying herself too. She was leaning on Carolina’s shoulder affectionately and seemed to be fixated on a strand of hair that had come undone from Carolina’s ponytail. Donut was giving Carolina style tips and suggesting different cuts of dresses that would be flattering. He had just started listing off colors that complemented her bright red hair when Kimball interjected.

“You look good in anything turquoise. Er, aqua? Lightish teal? Whatever the color of your leotard.” She stated. Carolina blushed. “Thanks. To be honest, it was hard finding a color that didn’t clash.” she said quietly.

A few hours and several meals later, the group was on their third round of drinks. Kimball and Carolina were using each other as support and probably regretting their drink choices. Sarge was quietly chuckling to himself and Grif was back to absently staring the red haired man from before.

Donut was rapidly typing something on his phone, probably a song. His eyebrows furrowed slightly as he concentrated, sipping his colorful drink from time to time.

Doc was the only sober one left aside from Wash who refused to drink, saying that he'd rather keep his liver intact.

Tucker, on the other hand, was on a whole other level. He was spinning a butter knife between his fingers and humming a tune that could only be ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’. Wash tried to ignore the fact that Tucker had weaseled his way onto his lap and made himself very comfortable.

Tucker being shorter than Wash by a good five inches made him seem oddly like a large cat. Wash liked cats. He was just about to bring it up when Tucker turned his head and stared Wash in the eyes.

“How did you get that cute scar?” He asked, his voice clearly laced with intoxication.

Wash moved his hand to the scar on his mouth. “This? Oh- it’s a- a very long story and WOW it’s almost eleven o’clock.” He said, looking at the clock on his phone and hoping to avoid the question. Tucker’s eyes widened.

“Oh shit! Junior!” He scrambled out of his seat, crawling over Wash and Sarge to get out of the booth. “I have to- I have to go right now. It was fun meeting you all” He said distractedly. He quickly turned his attention to Grif.

“Grif, I swear to god, if you don’t stop staring and go talk to that guy I will beat your ass into the ground. Bye!” He said, waving and starting towards the door. He stumbled slightly and Wash knew he was in no condition to drive. Luckily, he hadn’t had anything to drink.

Wash scooted out of his seat, also climbing over Sarge (who grumbled sleepily) and walked quickly past a surprised Grif. He caught up to Tucker outside and grabbed his shoulder.

“Let me drive.” He said sternly.

Tucker turned on his heel. “Um? Okay? Why?” He asked, cocking his his head to one side.

Wash gave him a look. It was a ‘you know very well why’ look. Tucker understood.

“Fine, but only because you’re cute and Junior would fucking hate me if I got arrested.” Tucker said, heading back towards his car. Wash followed him, dismissing the fact that Tucker just called him cute and making a note to never address it in the future. Wash gladly accepted the keys Tucker tossed him and made sure they were both strapped in before he started driving.

“You know… you never answered my question.” Tucker mused, clearly awaiting some sort of response.

“I didn't?” Wash asked, knowing he was walking straight into some sort of trap.

Tucker turned his head sharply. “No, you didn't. But you obviously don’t want to talk about it and that’s cool, so I’m just gonna see if I can guess. You know, something to pass the time.” And there it was. The trap.

Tucker ran a hand over his short-cropped curls, the lights from the car dashboard sending fleeting reflections across his dark skin. Even in the dim light, his deep brown eyes glittered with mischief.

“Was it a knife fight?” Tucker guessed.

“Nope.” Said Wash simply.

“Did you beat up some guy in an act of love?”

“No.”

“Ohh, I got it. You were playing your violin and one of the strings snapped and hit you? No? Am I close?”

Wash shook his head, keeping his eyes on the road. He was secretly proud of himself for not falling into Tucker’s trap. There was no way he was going to slip up and reveal the origin of his scar. He wasn't ready.

Tucker silently pouted for a few minutes until he had to point out his apartment building so Wash wouldn’t drive past. “Ah, there it is. Thanks for driving me.” They both got out of the car and Wash handed the keys back. “No problem.” He watched as Tucker shuffled up the steps to his door.

He fumbled for a moment with his keys and opened the door, waving to Wash as he went inside. Wash waved back and turned to leave, heading down the sidewalk toward his own apartment. Tucker watched him go and made to close the door. Instead, he paused for a moment, thinking deeply.

“Hey Wash?” Tucker called. Wash turned around, seeing Tucker silhouetted in the brightly lit doorway.

“Do you want to meet me tomorrow for Sarge’s performance? I mean, it’d be convenient. It’s right next to where we have class and we could just head over there after, plus we-”

“Tucker?” Wash interrupted, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I’ll go. Meet you tomorrow at ten?” He asked, raising his eyebrows.

Tucker nodded, gripping onto the door more tightly. “Sure.” He said,making sure his voice was steady. “Goodnight.” He said and quickly closed the door. Once it was safely shut and locked, Tucker let out a deep breath he had apparently been holding.

“Tomorrow. Ten a.m. Piano music. Washington.” Tucker said to himself. “Well shit. I'm screwed.” He added as he felt a warm blush creeping over his face, accompanied by a huge smile he knew he wouldn't be able to get rid of very easily

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tuckington is my jam, I love it. But don't worry, Docnut, Grimmons and Kimballina have not been forgotten. I also dont know how to write Sarge so sorry if its weird.
> 
> There'll be more fluff and stuff in the next chapter which might come out in maybe a week or two? Depending on wether or not my brother decides to literally steal the keyboard from the computer.


	4. Why don't you give me some?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grif meets his mystery man and numbers are exchanged.

“Junior, what? No, of course you can't use the stove. Yes you can play video games. Okay. Yeah, I’ll see you this afternoon. Bye.” Tucker finished his phone call and put it back in his messenger bag. He sat on a bench outside of the theatre with a bottle of water and a warm coat. It was 9:48 a.m. and Wash had yet to show up.

He kept looking about, hoping to catch a glimpse of Wash’s light hair amongst the crowd filing into the theatre. Tucker had thought Wash’s height would have made him easier to spot and it probably would have if he had showed up.

Tucker massaged his temples and took another long swig of water to assuage his pounding headache. He reminded himself to never order the drink with the gummy worms again. It hit hard. Tucker looked down at his watch again and groaned. He hadn’t pegged Wash as the kind of guy who ditches his dates. Then again, it hadn't been explicitly referred to as such.

Tucker looked up and spotted a certain pale, freckle-ridden blonde sprinting down the sidewalk. Speak of the devil.

“Oh my gosh, am I late? Sorry, I completely lost track of time.” Said Wash, looking more frazzled and unkempt than Tucker himself. Wash had on a long steel-gray coat and a handmade scarf around his neck. His hair was pushed back sloppily and he held a cup of coffee in his bare hands.

Tucker tore his eyes away from Wash’s slender fingers and shrugged impassively. “Nah, It's cool. We’ve got time.” He said and stood up, stretching his arms and yawning.

Wash sipped his coffee. “Good. I was just so distracted. I went on my morning run and almost got run over, and then I practiced violin for way too long and then…” Wash took another long, dramatic sip. “... I slipped on my bathroom floor and bruised my knee.” He said quickly.

Tucker brought up a hand to discreetly cover his mouth. “Oh.” He said quietly, fearing he would end up laughing if he said anything more.

Wash scoffed. “It’s not funny.” His smile betrayed him. “Okay, it's kinda funny. But it would be much more so if it didn't happen to me.” He said, offering his arm to Tucker, who took it gingerly and walked with Wash into the theatre. It was already packed. People were milling about, talking and laughing, trying to find their seats.

Luckily, Grif and the others had saved them seats at the end of the aisle. Wash sat down next to Donut and Tucker settled down next to him. He winced at a particularly loud laugh from someone behind him and took a long drink of his water. Wash raised an eyebrow at him.

“Headache?” he asked. Tucker winced, but nodded. “Yep. That's what I get for ordering the most alcoholic drink in the whole bar. Two of them, I might add.” He said.

Wash nodded. “I know how that is. Well, the headache part not the drink part.” Tucker furrowed his brow. “That reminds me, why don't you drink?” He asked, surreptitiously placing his hand over Wash’s. Wash didn't move. Tucker relaxed.

“Oh, well. I just… don’t want to?” Wash said. It sounded more like a question than a statement. Tucker let it slide, realizing Wash had more secrets than he let on. But Tucker didn't pry.

Wash soon turned to Donut, undoing his scarf in the process. It was a bit warm in the theatre.

“Donut, I've been meaning to ask you, what happened last night after we left? Everyone got home safe, I hope?” He asked, thrumming his free hand against his thigh. Donut gave Wash a smile. “Yep, Sarge left about five minutes after you two, Grif finished everyone's leftovers and went on his way after looking a few more times at that cute ginger and Carolina…”

Donut looked over his shoulder and made sure Carolina was distracted. “She left with Kimball. At the same time.” He grinned. Wash looked over at the pair in question. They were conversing in low tones and had their hands intertwined.

“Well, they do live in the save apartment complex. And they're dance partners. But I see what you're getting at.” Wash wouldn't ever admit it but gossip one of his guilty pleasures.

* * *

 

The audience went silent as the lights dimmed and Sarge stepped on stage, hair slicked back and sporting a black suit. His tie matched the red velvet curtains behind him. The spotlight followed him until he reached the shiny black grand piano in the middle of the stage. He sat down and rested his fingers on the keys, waiting only a split second before the theatre was filled with the sounds of a dream.

Wash sat with his eyes glued to the stage. The mellifluous sounds filling his ears left no room for any other sense and soon his eyes glazed over and he forgot the warm feeling of Tucker’s hand over his, softly squeezing his fingers.

Two hours later, he was standing outside the theatre doors and stretching his arms, a light flurry of snow all around. Wash had barely moved during the whole performance and despite having heard Sarge play before, he couldn't stop being in awe of his talent. It was different hearing him on stage.

Donut was standing next to him prattling on about how much he wanted to do a duet with Sarge one day, Tucker had just come back from the bathroom and Carolina and Kimball were nowhere to be seen. Grif said he wanted to go find Sarge for some reason or another and disappeared back into the building.

“Hey Donut, where’s Doc?” Wash asked, hoping to put an end to Donut’s tirade.

“Oh, Frankie’s at work. He’s got a lot on his plate right now and as amazing she is, Dr. Grey can’t handle it all herself.” Donut answered, wrapping himself more tightly in his coat. He was silent after that, humming quietly to himself.

* * *

 

Grif stood inside the building for two reasons only. One, it was warm and two, he had just spotted a fmop of bright orange hair. ‘No way’ he thought as he shouldered his way past the throngs of people farther into the building and towards the stage. Sure enough, there, standing next to Sarge and conversing with frequent gestures was the man from the bar. The one with the pointy nose, soft green eyes and shining metal arm.

His left arm was covered almost completely by a maroon coat which the man wore and it seemed like he was trying to hide it. However, Grif knew what he was looking for, so it was easy to spot the glistening tips of metal fingers poking out.

Grif made a beeline for the two, ignoring Sarge’s protests and maybe a little rudely cutting in.

“Hi. I saw you at Mother of Invention last night and I have to tell you that you have really pretty eyes… Shit.” He backtracked quickly, hoping to save his pride. “I mean, your arm is cool?” He offered, getting a concerned smile from the man and an impatient huff from Sarge who nevertheless left them alone to go talk to someone who ‘wouldn’t give him empty compliments’.

“Um. Thanks I guess? I usually don’t get complimented on my eyes, though.” Said the red haired man. “Just this.” He lifted his prosthetic half-heartedly.

“I hate it. It’s heavy, I keep breaking things if I grab them too hard and I way too many people asking me how it happened.”

Grif shrugged. “I personally think it makes you look badass. But maybe going full sci-fi metal arm wasn’t the best choice.” The man giggled.

“I guess you’re right. I would get a new one, maybe 3D printed if I hadn’t blown all my savings on this. I’m Simmons, by the way.” He held out his flesh arm, but Grif instead grabbed ahold of his metal one and shook it firmly. “I’m Grif. I’m uh… an acquaintance of Sarge the Piano Asshole.” He gestured behind him where Sarge was talking to a bunch of old people.

“He seems to think his instrument of choice is superior to all others.” Grif huffed. “Which is totally not true. I play the Cello, and I can say wholeheartedly that it’s much cooler.”

Simmons ran his metal hand through his hair. “I can't say I know exactly how that feels. My acting group is more or less accepting and egalitarian. I'm not real close with them though. I get the feeling they don't exactly like me enough to become friends. Not that I mind, I'm perfectly content being on my own. I’m what you might call a ‘nerd.’”

Grif usually would have zoned out and stopped paying attention if anyone else had been talking, but he found himself trapped by Simmons’ words. He wanted to hear his voice more often. It sounded nice.

“Oh, look at me. I rambling a again.” Said Simmons, a light blush of embarrassment dusting his lightly freckled face.

“Don't worry about it. Hey, by the way… you looked pretty lonely at the bar last night. Do you want to go meet my friends? I think they’d like you.” Grif said, gesturing a thumb towards the exit.

Simmons frowned. “O-oh, sure. Are they all musicians?” he asked, cocking his head to the side.

“Nah, almost everyone. We’ve got two dancers, a singer, a visual artist and a fucking doctor. But he’s only in our circle of friends because he’s Donut’s friend. Boyfriend? I don't fucking know what they are, at this point.” Grif continued.

He started to to walk back towards the entrance, grabbing ahold of Simmon’s prosthetic and dragging him through the crowd which threatened to separate them.

“So which one’s Donut?” Simmon’s stage-whispered to him when they made it back outside.

Donut shrieked as he turned his head to see who called his name.

“It’s you! The cute guy from the bar! Damn, Grif. I see you took Tucker’s advice for once.” He teased.

Grif made an effort and laughed off the comment.

“Fuck off, Donut.” He said with a jovial smile. He looked back at Simmons who looked about ready to sprint in any direction available.

“Ah. I’m uh. I’m Simmons. I’m an actor.” He said nervously to the group. Carolina and Kimball had found their way back sometime since the show ended. Kimball was handing Carolina pieces of chocolate from an enormous bar she was holding. They both very pleased.

Tucker was the first one to speak.

“So like, Shakespeare, or roleplaying? ‘Cause I haven't asked yet, but Grif could be into that.” He gave them both a wink and a positively malicious grin.

Grif tried to speak but Simmons beat him to it, surprisingly not losing what little composure he had.

“Shakespeare, mostly, but we do some more modern plays and have little projects we work on. I’ve been writing my own play for a while now… ever since I got this.” He pulled up his sleeve and showed his gleaming metal arm for everyone to see.

Wash almost choked on the last sip of his coffee.

“Holy shit!” He shouted, almost in unison with Tucker. They both cast a glance at the other. “That is badass, dude.” Tucker finished.

Simmons tried to hide his smile as They all took at least a step closer and admired the five-figures worth of metal slapped elegantly onto his shoulder.

Carolina spoke up, alerting Wash to her presence suddenly. He flinched as she peeked over his shoulder to talk to Simmons.

“That’s quite the accessory. How’d you lose the arm? If you don’t mind my asking.” She said politely.

Simmons swiftly pulled his sleeve back down.

“I do mind your asking and I don't like to talk about it.” He said with a tone that ended the conversation there.

The awkward silence that followed with a familiar joyful tone that brightened the mood.

“Hi! I'm sorry we we couldn't make it time to see the piano. Church fell asleep on my lap last night when we watched a movie and he wouldn't get up.” Caboose said, surprising Wash once again with the sudden greeting.

“Caboose? When did you get here? And are you… giving Church a piggyback ride?” He asked, stepping around Caboose to get a better view of the clearly still groggy Church hanging feebly on to the larger man’s neck.

“Fuck oooooffffff… Let me sleep. I had- I had a terrible night and I don't have time for your bullshit.” Church complained with a weak wave of his hand. “And we only got here now because Caboose couldn't remember where he put his coat.” He grumbled.

Tucker smirked. “Did you by any chance watch a scary movie last night?” He asked, sidling up next to Wash and not moving an inch when Church shot him a murderous glare.

Caboose let Church down reluctantly and joined the rest to meet Simmons. Church straightened his coat and inhaled slowly.

“Yes, we did by complete coincidence watch a horror movie last night but it doesn't have anything to do with the fact that I didn't sleep. That was due to the four goddamn hours I spent looking for an apartment with taller ceilings in the same area so Caboose doesn't keep bruising his forehead on the fucking door jam.”

Tucker hummed thoughtfully. “Yeah, okay. I'll buy that.” He shrugged.

Wash chuckled softly and leaned down to whisper in Tucker's ear. “I didn’t think Caboose liked horror movies.”

Tucker lifted a finger and tapped Wash on the nose. “That’s where you're wrong. Caboose knows it's not real, either that or he's just so detached from reality. Either way, he doesn't get scared as easily as Church. It was probably Caboose's idea to watch it anyway.”

Tucker ignored the sidelong glance Church was giving him from his spot next to Caboose. Instead, he looped his arm in Wash’s and dragged him over to the rest.

“I'm going with Wash to get coffee. Who else wants a pick me up?” He almost shouted. Everyone raised their hand immediately. Church, without even looking, reached up and pulled Caboose’s paint stained hand down slowly.

Tucker moved amongst the group and scribbled on his hand the preferences of his circle of friends. Carolina, unsurprisingly, wanted hers black. Kimball insisted on just a green tea. Church wanted a double espresso (emphasis on double) and Grif just shrugged. “I'm fine with whatever. Just make sure it has caramel.” He said.

Simmons tried to decline the offer of drinks paid for by someone he just met, but Tucker used what he called ‘natural charm’ to persuade him. He wanted jasmine tea and somehow expected to get chided for it. Grif leaned over and quietly admitted that even though he wasn't much of a tea drinker, that was his favorite.

Tucker didn't bother to write anything for Sarge. Wash inquired as to why that was. “He can buy his own damn coffee.” was his dismissive response to Wash’s question. Donut requested a chai latte and with that, they were off.

* * *

 

Wash watched the sidewalk as his feet left clear imprints in the thin icy layer of snow. Tucker still had his arm hooked around Wash’s own and was oddly silent. They walked about a block in complete silence, their breath making small white clouds in the cold air around them.

“Tucker.” Wash said, noticing the way he was nervously picking at his glove lint.

Tucker flinched. “Jesus, Wash. What?” He said, glancing up at the taller man’s face.

“I'm not letting you buy me coffee.” He said matter-of-factly. He turned his eyes back to the street in front of them.

Tucker shifted slightly. “Okay?” Was his quiet response. “I wasn’t going to anyway…” he added.

Wash gasped slightly. “Oh? You always have the last word, is that the kind of person you are?” he teased. Tucker frowned. He opened his mouth to say something but was cut off by his phone ringing loudly in his bag.

He immediately stopped dead in the sidewalk and fumbled to unlock it. Putting it to his ear, almost breathlessly, he said “Hello?”

“Hey dad. Are you okay?” Asked Junior. “I just called to ask if I can use the toaster?”

Tucker let out a long, audible sigh. “Yes Junior, you can use the toaster. Just keep an eye on it and don't let it burn this time.” He answered, more annoyed and a lot less scared this time.

Wash let a small smile appear on his face and Tucker ended the call and resumed walking. “Sorry. I just care about him so fucking much. I thought he was hurt. He usually only valls me if something bad happens. Which it does, more times that I'm comfortable with.”

“I've never had a kid, so I have no experience and I can't sympathize with you at all. But I like kids. I've been around my sister’s enough times to know that letting them get hurt is sometimes the only way for them to learn.” Said Wash. “But I'm in no position to tell you how to raise you kid.” he added quickly.

Tucker nudged Wash’s shoulder with his cheek and smiled. “Do you miss your sisters? Wish you could spend more time with their kids?” He asked as they walked into the coffee shop and Tucker removed his right glove to read off the orders he had scribbled there.

“Yeah. I only see them about once a year for thanksgiving. I wish it could be more often.” Wash answered. He stepped up to the counter and ordered their Valentine’s Day special, a caramel mocha infused with lavender. Tucker listed off the long list of various drinks and just got a water refill for himself.

“Jeez Washington, what the hell is that?” Tucker asked, carrying two cup holders out of the shop while Wash carried the last and sipped his drink.

“What, this? I wanted to try it, so I did. It's not that bad. Tastes just like Valentine’s Day.” Wash mused. If he secretly enjoyed the fact that Tucker had called him by his full name, he didn't let on. Tucker snorted.

“What? Gimme that!” He demanded and snatched the cup out of Wash’s hand. He stared right into Wash’s horrified eyes as he took a sip.

“Augh! Ew. It tastes like perfume!” He shrieked. Wash took back his cup and stuck his tongue out at Tucker.

“I told you. Just like Valentine's.” He reiterated. Tucker took a gulp of his water and tried to wash out the sickly sweet aftertaste of Wash’s drink out of his mouth.

They continued back to the theatre in comfortable silence and got back to find Sarge berating Grif about something useless.

“‘Ey! Coffee!” Tucker shouted over the murmur. Church rushed forward and snatched his cup from the tray, cradling it as if it was life itself. Tucker muttered a spiteful ‘you’re welcome’ and passed off the drinks to everyone else. Once they were settled and Sarge had pouted quietly about not getting any, Wash broke the silence with a start.

He looked down at his watch in alarm. “Oh. I have to go now. I have to write an entirely original piece and perform it this weekend so bye! Nice playing Sarge!” He started to walk back in the direction of his car when he stopped and turned right back around.

“Actually before I go, I realize I don't have any of your numbers.” He admitted nervously. Donut gasped and quickly set up a system to make sure they all got each other's number. Carolina and Kimball, to no one’s surprise (not even Simmons), had already exchanged numbers.

Once it was all taken care of, Wash took his leave and retreated back to the relative warmth of his car. He opened up his phone and quickly added a single heart to the end of Tucker’s name in his contacts. Because someone that beautiful deserved a heart. His, to be exact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. There it is. The Grimmons we've all been waiting for. Or at least, the beginning. I had a bit of trouble with their dialogue, but I revised it and am now happy with it. The next chapter will be so much more Kimballina and Docnut heavy. Just so you know.
> 
> And in other news, which punny title do you like better for the Lolix fic I have on the backburner?
> 
> 'Steal my heART' or 'HeART thief'? Yes, I need your opinion. Tell me in the comments which you prefer.


	5. For far too long I've been cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The long awaited Docnut and Kimballina chapter is here! They go shopping, Donut makes dinner and Carolina gets an unexpected gift.

"I hate shopping." Grumbled Carolina as Donut heaped two more dresses into her arms.

"Well, maybe if you took more pride in your appearance and your wardrobe weren't so drastically understocked you'd enjoy it. I swear, the only thing you own that could pass off as formalwear is a single black dress." Donut huffed.

Kimball raised her eyebrows and gave Carolina a look.

"Don't get me wrong, a little black dress is an essential part of any wardrobe, but you need something more stunning. Come on, don't you both want to look nice for Wash's performance? Unlike Sarge's, this is going to be a theatre filled with important musicians from neighboring cities. It's a very fancy event."

Donut went on an on as he browsed the racks of formalwear. Doc was at work and he felt bored, so he offered to take Kimball and Carolina shopping. They rarely got dressed up, and when they did it was for a ballet.

Kimball spotted something amongst the ruffles and sequins. She plucked it from the rack and held it up to get a better look.

"Hmmm. You think I can rock strapless?" She asked Carolina.

"I think you can rock just about anything." Carolina answered, admiring Kimball's find. It was a light blue shimmering dress that reached just above her knees and was cut to flatter her ample hips.

"Yeah, you're right. I'm going to try this on. You should too. Try to lighten the load." Kimball gave Carolina a pat on the cheek and a subtle wink as she left to find the dressing rooms.

Donut noticed Kimball's 'subtlety' but didn't say a word. Who was he to ruin their fun?

"I agree. You should try those on. I can't find anything else that won't clash . Sadly, there's only so much that can go with that red hair of yours." He said with a feeble shrug of the shoulders.

"I'm going to go look at scarves while you two change." He waved goodbye and made for the rack of shimmering silk and wool.

Carolina carried the pile of clothing over to the dressing rooms and tried to find an empty one.

"'Nessa? You in here?" She called.

"Almost done! I need your opinion." She answered.

Kimball stepped out of the dressing room and stood in front of a mirror. She smoothed down the fabric and frowned. “Do you like it? I don't know if flatters me.” She said, more to herself than to Carolina.

“I- you look stunning, in my opinion.” Carolina stuttered, seeing the way her face flushed in mirror. “It's very flattering. You have, uh… Nice shoulders. And arms. The strapless was a good choice.” Carolina slipped into the dressing room before Kimball had a chance to reply.

“Do you want me to stay here so I can compliment you too?” Came her voice from the other side of the door. There was a rustling of fabric and a soft curse before Carolina replied.

“Uh yeah- Sure, if you don't have anything else to do.” Was her apprehensive reply.

Kimball tapped lightly on the door. “Well, I don't have a particular desire to listen to Donut talk about scarves. As tempting as it sounds.” She paused for a moment. “Let me in, I need to change.”

“Aren't the other stalls open?” Carolina asked, her voice shaking almost imperceptibly. She reached behind her to zip up the first dress Donut had given her.

Kimball leaned against the door. “You've seen me in the locker room at dance class. And no, they all seem to be occupied.” She said casually.

Carolina shoved the door open and made almost made Kimball lose her balance. “You can change now.” She said, standing in front of the mirror and giving herself a scrutinizing glare.

Kimball whistled. “You know, aside from aqua, I think pink might be your best color.” She said with a nod and a quick sweep of Carolina’s form.

“I'm not sure about the ruffles. It's not quite me.” She said, adding “I do look good in pink” under her breath.

Kimball ushered her back into the stall and closed the door behind them both. “So else what do you have?” She asked, rummaging through the pile of dresses on the bench. She found one aqua and another pale pink dress that Carolina approved of, shoving the rest to the side on the grounds that they were much too dainty and seemed a lot more like something Donut himself would wear.

Carolina inadvertently found herself stealing glances at Kimball who had put herself between Carolina and the door. She had just slipped off the dress and was changing back into her dark jeans and forest green top.

“What, Lina?” She asked, catching the chaste glance. Carolina snapped her head back to the dress in her hands, her face turning a shade more red. “Nothing.” She said and began to strip out of the pink dress and into the aqua one. It was much more her style. Fewer ruffles, more sleeves.

Kimball smirked. “Damn. You look better than I do. I'm getting jealous.” She commented.

Carolina hid her face and glance over the Kimball’s dress. “The pink one will match yours better.” She noted. Kimball gave Carolina a look. “I can leave if you want.” She said, noticing the shake to Carolina’s voice.

“No no, it's fine. I'm just really self-conscious, that's all. It's not you.” She assured Kimball.

Kimball shrugged. She helped Carolina out of the aqua dress and watched her put on the other pink one. “Yeah, this one’s much better. We’ll look like a real couple.” She smiled.

Carolina blushed. It took all of her willpower not to squeal right then. She hastily gathered up the rejected dresses and slid past Kimball out of the stall.

Kimball lingered behind for a moment, picking up the two dresses and admiring the way the two colors complimented each other. With a smile on her lips and a spring in her step she followed Carolina back to the rack of formalwear to deposit the rejects and find Donut.

Sure enough, Donut was carrying a thick pink wool scarf and something violet on a hanger which he hid from their prying eyes and stated it was a secret and they’d just have to wait until the performance to see it.

The three made their way to the checkout counter, Kimball and Carolina with their hands intertwined and Donut suppressing a fangirl squeal at the sight of it. He couldn't wait to tell Wash.

Donut kept the purple fabric folded up at checkout and immediately shoved it in his bag to avoid Carolina’s sneaky sleight of hand. They left in relatively high spirits and Donut dropped them both off at their apartment complex, hands still laced together.

Once they were gone, his spirits dropped considerably. He hadn't gotten to spend time with Doc recently due to him being so busy at work. As he was getting home and unlocking the door to their apartment, he got a text alert from Doc himself.

Frankie: _I finally have a break from work and I’ll be home around 6. Can't wait to see you!_

Donut nearly dropped his phone. Six? That was in four hours. That meant he had enough time to miae dinner and cookies. Donut shed his coat and shoes, tossed his bag on the couch and sprinted to the kitchen. He yanked open the fridge door.

Perfect.

* * *

 

Donut busied himself with the delicate task of making pizza dough. He knew how much Doc like pizza and how little time he had to make it. So what better way to welcome him home than with pizza, peanut butter cookies and the nice soft embrace of his bed? Donut began humming to himself as he whipped up cookie batter and let the pizza dough rise.

By the time the pizza was on the table and the cookies were cooling on the stovetop, a jingling of keys at the door had Donut hopping down off the countertop where he sat and practically throwing himself into Doc’s arms.

“Frankie! I missed you so much! I made dinner! And cookies because I couldn't help myself.” Donut released Doc from his grip and stared up into his tired but still shining eyes.

“Pizza? Oh, Donut, you're the best.” He sighed, plopping down at the table and taking a slice of pizza.

“You don't know how much I missed the sound of your voice. I haven't slept for twenty three straight hours and I don't know how the hospital even got that packed.” He mumbled through a mouthful of food.

Donut giggled. “I missed your voice too. I'm glad you can finally sleep now. You have bags under your eyes.” He stared at Doc with a sad look.

Doc hummed in agreement. “At least I can pull off the ‘disgruntled and overworked doctor’ look. It's not an easy feat.” He sat back in his chair and ran a hand through his wavy brown hair. His eyelids were heavy and he looked like he was about to fall asleep. There was the shadow of his unshaven beard darkening his face and despite all this to Donut he still looked stunningly beautiful.

“Do you want to sleep?” Donut asked once Doc had finished his pizza and yawned for the third time in five minutes.

Doc hesitated for a moment, his eyes flicking to the television and the soft warm couch. “I- I want to spend more time with you.” He said resolutely.

Those words warmed Donut’s heart. He had to fight the urge to lean across the table and give Doc a kiss. “Alright. Do you want to watch Netflix?” He raised an eyebrow slightly.

Doc stood up and snagged the plate of cookies as he walked by. He flopped down on the couch and patted the cushion next to him. “You bet.” Was his breathy answer as he gathered up the special couch blanket and draped it over his lap.

Donut hopped over the back of the couch and situated himself close enough to Doc to be nice and warm but far enough away as to not crush him with cuddles. It was very hard for Donut to not crush him with cuddles.

Doc pulled up Netflix on the television and flicked through the shows, weighing their options and getting Donut’s input. Eventually, they settled on Star Trek. No one else was aware, but they were both pretty big fans of the show, the original as well as Next Generation.

After finally deciding which episode to watch Donut let himself scoot just the tiniest bit closer to Doc. Doc didn't make any attempt to move away, so Donut grabbed Doc’s arm and pulled it around his shoulders. He stole a glance at Doc’s face and noticed a content smile wash over him. They settled into each other's embrace and got nice and toasty under the blanket.

Soon, Doc was quietly asleep next to him and Donut shut off the television and got ready to go to bed himself. Donut wasn't strong enough to carry Doc all the way up to his room and there was no way he was rousing him out of his happy slumber. Besides, the couch was just as comfy as his bed. Donut t slowly made to get up but found Doc’s arm tightly curled around his own.

“Frank DuFresne, let go of my arm.” Donut mockingly scolded. Doc made a little whining noise and tightened his grip. Donut grumbled and almost reluctantly (but not quite) fell back onto the couch and laid down next to Doc. “Goodnight, Frankie.” He mumbled. Doc pulled him closer as a reply.

* * *

 

When Carolina opened the door to her apartment after parting ways with Kimball, she screamed. Not a terrified scream, not an angry one. One of horror and confusion and surprise. And maybe a little happiness, considering there was a dog sitting on her floor with the shredded remains of her pillow in its mouth.

“What the fuck?” She yelled, stomping into her apartment and slamming the door behind her with enough force to threaten one of the framed pictures on her wall. The dog didn't flinch. He did, however, drop what was left of the pillow and scamper around the room trying to get her to play.

Carolina didn't want to play. She didn't particularly want a dog either. it wasn't that she didn't like dogs. No, she loved dogs. She just didn't have the time oo patience to take care of one. And she wasn't going to leave it all alone outside in February. So who would take care of it?

Carolina’s first thought to just drop it off at a shelter was interrupted by loud, thumping footsteps and a hammering on her door. She opened it up to find a slightly winded Kimball staring at her with wide eyes. “What the hell happened? Are you okay?” She asked, panic and pure stress hidden poorly in her voice.

Carolina stepped aside for Kimball to bask in the glory of the fluffy brown dog. Kimball gasped. “I didn't know you had a dog! That’s so cute! I mean- It’s so cute.” She knelt down and pet the dog in what could only be described as vigorously. Carolina closed the door again, softly this time.

“I didn't know I had a dog either. It was just… in here when I got back. I only know one other person who has a key to this apartment and this seems like something he would do. See a cute abandoned dog, pick it up, suddenly realize he can't care for it and then make me deal with it because I'm the only other person he knows in this area.”

Carolina went about cleaning up the mess as she talked. Kimball held back the dog and prevented him from furthering the damage.

“And who is this person? Do I know him?” Asked Kimball, softly petting the dog’s thick fur.

“No, you wouldn't know him. He and I have been friends for a long time but he doesn't live here. After I moved here for dance, I honestly thought he was dead. He hasn't called or texted in over a year and a half. Now he drops a fucking dog at my doorstep?! Is that his idea of an apology for his radio silence?” Carolina threw up her hands and slumped down at her kitchen table. She put her head in her hands and took a long, labored breath.

“Okay. I’m calling him.” She said after a moment of silence. She took out her phone and angrily scrolled through her contacts. She finally found the number she was looking for and called it, putting it on speaker and setting her phone on the table. It rang only once.

 _“Hey Carolina! What's up?”_ said the voice on the other end.

Carolina glared at the phone. “Fuck you, York.”

 _“I take it you got my present?”_ York replied, a hint of guilt in his voice.

“Okay, what made you think putting a stray dog in my apartment, the apartment of someone who doesn't even have enough time to take care of a fucking cactus, was a good idea? You didn't even call to tell me you were in town? What the hell, York? Do you know how worried I’ve been? I legitimately thought you had died!” Carolina shouted. She had gotten up and was pacing around the room.

 _“Calm down, Carolina. He’s not a stray. I got him from a shelter and wanted to surprise you. I know you love dogs.”_ York assured her.

“As if that makes it any better? He trashed my house. And yes,I will admit he's adorable as fuck, but I can’t take care of him. I'm just going to have to give him back to a shelter.” Carolina lamented.

Kimball spoke up then, startling York on the other end. “Wait, Caboose! He's always wanted a dog! Church won't go out and actively find him one but if it's a gift from you and it's free, he can't say no.” Carolina's eyes lit up.

“Of course, Caboose has much more time on his hands.” She bent down and smooshed the dog’s face, completley ignoring the fact that York was still on speaker phone. “You're going to have so much fun with Caboose! Yes you are!” Kimball stared for much too long at the ecstatic expression Carolina wore.

She stood up and directed her attention to the phone once more. “York, you piece of shit, I want to see you and whoever’s with you at Mother of Invention tomorrow. It’s a bar downtown on first street. Be there, or I’ll be sending you a far more unpleasant gift in the near future.”

 _“Um… alright. I'll be there. But how did you know there's someone with me?”_ York asked, his voice pitching up slightly.

Carolina scoffed. “I can hear the obnoxious sound of someone eating chips in the background.” York hummed. _“Of course. Well, see you tomorrow! Sorry about the dog trashing your apartment. Bye!”_ And York hung up.

Carolina turned off her phone and picked up the dead remains of her pillow. “I hope my bed’s still intact…” She said tentatively. After disappearing into the next room and after barely containing yet another scream of utter rage, she stomped back out into the living room and almost whispered “It's not intact. Can I stay at your place?”

Kimball coughed unceremoniously in an attempt to mask the squeal threatening to escape her lips. She nodded quickly and stood up, brushing dog fur off her legs and hiding the faint blush creeping onto her face. “Of course. But, what are we going to do about the dog until tomorrow?”

“Ah fuck, you're right. Um… We could… Shit, I don't know what to do.” Carolina said, loosening her hair from the ponytail it was in and looking around her apartment. “This place has already gone to shit, what's the harm in leaving it overnight?” She asked,, shrugging more weakly than she intended.

“To be honest, I'd rather go to sleep and deal with this tomorrow.” Kimball said. “Lets just go.” She slung her arm around Carolina's shoulder and started towards the door. Carolina grabbed her phone and keys on the way out and they strolled down the hall to Kimball's apartment.

Kimball unlocked the door and switched on the lights. Carolina couldn't help but marvel at Kimball's superior decorating skills. “You have a great sense of style.” Was all she managed to get out.

Kimball subdued a smile. “Thanks.” She pointed across the room to a little hall at the end. “Bedroom’s straight down, bathroom’s on the left.” She said, pulling off her shoes and putting her keys on the table. “There's probably some leftover soup in the fridge if you're hungry.”

Carolina nodded slowly. “Okay, thanks.” _Shit. when did things get so awkward with us? It wasn't this bad when I kicked her in the face_. She thought. _Should I do it again? No, that’s stupid. She would hate that._

Kimball went into the bedroom and came back out with a blanket and a pair of fleece pajamas. “Here you go, since we were both forgetful and you didn't bring any.” She handed Carolina the pajamas. Carolina looked just the slightest bit confused but went into the bedroom and changed. Kimball made her way to the low grey couch in her living room. She spread the blanket out and lay down on it, shutting her eyes and yawning sleepily.

The lights were off and Kimball was not terribly chilly. It was dark and the moon peeked out from behind thick clouds. Faint light filtered in through the window. She heard a loud sigh from the bedroom.

“Vanessa, get your cute ass in here.” Carolina said in a firm but playful voice.

“No no, the bed’s all yours. I'm fine.” Kimball answered.

She heard light footsteps coming closer and suddenly she was being picked up.

“What the-” Carolina cut her off by putting a finger to her lips.

“Shut it. It's freezing even with the heating. You are sleeping in your own bed and it’s going to be warm and cozy and maybe we’ll cuddle.” Carolina said, trailing off at the end.

Kimball was lowered onto her bed and Carolina crawled in on the opposite side and laid down facing her.

“What a coincidence. I like cuddles too.” She whispered, moving closer to Carolina. Kimball felt a warm pair of strong arms wrap around her and she let out a long content breath.

“Goodnight.” Whispered Carolina.

“Don't forget about the dog.” Replied Kimball.

“I said goodnight.”

Kimball adjusted her shoulders. “And we have dance class at two p.m.” She reminded Carolina.

“Just go the fuck to sleep already.” Came the slightly annoyed reply.

Kimball smiled and buried herself in Carolina’s warm embrace as they fell asleep wrapped in each other's arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy! It's York! And another mystery character! Yes, I will be adding in the missing tags and stuff, but I wanted it to be a surprise so I didn't add them until now.


	6. Warm me with your embrace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wash doesn't sleep (not surprising), Tucker needs help, and Caboose gets a dog.

Washington hadn't slept in two days. His diet, which was usually fairly healthy, had been reduced to coffee, pastries he could grab while he got said coffee and protein shakes if he had enough time to make one. The thing about Wash that he hated to admit to anyone was that when it really came down to it, even if it seemed like he had all his shit together... He didn't. Wash didn't have his shit together. He had to remind himself to eat sometimes because he could get so caught up in work and never stop until he drove himself over the edge and passed out.

He had spent the past two sleepless days holed up in his apartment writing his completely original violin solo for the strings showcase that weekend. Wash was almost finished. The day after tomorrow he would perform it on stage along with the other string players in his orchestra. He was confident in his skills even if he had procrastinated by going to Sarge's performance and holding hands with Tucker which was nice and warm and it made him want to- No. He had to focus on the task at hand. No distractions.

He sat in his apartment, hunched over his desk scribbling on a sheet of music paper by the light of his single desk lamp. His violin was resting on the bed behind him and he would occasionally grab it and test out the new section he had composed, just to make sure it sounded good. He felt a bit bad about this. It was eleven o'clock at night on a Thursday and he was probably keeping up his neighbors.

Wash eventually passed out on his desk from utter lack of energy. Energy that couldn't be regained with coffee and shakes. He slept for maybe an hour before his phone lit up and sent a tinny sound around the room, jolting him from his slumber. It was a text from Carolina. Her contact photo, one he took of her in the spring years ago when they used to work together stared back up at him with acid green eyes as he unlocked his phone and read the text.

Carolina: York's back. The piece of shit left a dog in my apartment. I'm meeting him tomorrow at Mother of Invention if you want to come by and help me yell at him.

Wash smiled fondly at Carolina's offer of yelling at York. He really wanted to. But his smile was soon wiped clean off his face as he re-read the text. York was back in town. After a year and a half of utter silence. Back in town without so much as a hello. He didn't even want to address the dog. Wash almost angrily turned off his phone, put his violin away and crawled into bed. His mind wandered to the day before. Sarge's performance, holding Tucker's hand (so warm), Simmons being introduced to everyone and Grif's obvious crush on the red-headed amputee.

Speaking of Grif, he was one of the other string players who was performing in two days and it bothered Wash more than he'd ever admit that Grif had finished his piece already. As he pondered all the things he had to do tomorrow, Wash's eyes slid shut and his thoughts faded into deep, restful sleep.

* * *

 

The next morning, Tucker had his shit together. His keys were in his hand, his boots were snugly on his feet, he had his coat on and was ready to go to work and drive Junior to school. Except Junior wasn't ready yet. He was still sitting at the breakfast table eating a bowl of oatmeal with brown sugar. Tucker, his boots clunking across the floor, made his way to the kitchen and patted Junior's back.

"Junior, Buddy. We have to get going. We're going to be late. Come on, dude." He said, trying to be encouraging.

Junior was still in his pajamas. He poked absently at his oatmeal and sniffed loudly. Junior turned his head slowly and looked up at Tucker with tired eyes, reddened and watery. His nose was starting to run.

"Dad, I don't feel good. I think I need to stay home today." Junior croaked, his voice raspy and dry. Tucker tightened his grip in Junior's shoulder.

"Shit. Okay buddy, that's fine. Are you... Do you feel like you have to throw up? Because if you do... Then we'll go to the hospital. If you aren't going to throw up then I'll just call the babysitter or something." Tucker said, jingling the keys in his hand.

Junior shook his head. "I'm not going to throw up. I think it's just a cold. And please don't call the babysitter, she's mean and talks on her phone all the time. And she won't let me make toast." Junior said, pouting.

Tucker nodded. "Okay. No babysitter. Remind me to not hire her again. I can't leave you alone though, someone needs to take care of you while I'm at work." He ran a hand over his short-cropped hair, racking his brain and thinking of everyone he knew who might be free at this time.

He pulled out his phone and began scrolling through his contacts. Who did he know of who would be free on a Friday morning? Junior looked over his shoulder, wiping a sleeve across his nose to keep it from dripping.

"You could just leave me here alone. I'm almost nine, Dad." He suggested, shrugging as if it wasn't a big deal.

Tucker looked appalled. "No way, mister. I don't care how old you are, I'm not leaving you alone all day while you're sick." He shook his head disapprovingly at the thought of leaving Junior, his pride and joy, the light of his life, home alone.

Junior took a bite of his oatmeal. "Then you'd better leave me with someone I like. How about that Wash guy? You talk about him all the time and he seems nice."

Tucker stopped scrolling. His thumb was poised over Wash's contact. "Hmmmm. Maybe... He's got the same schedule as I do, so he won't be at practice. He seems responsible. He seems-"

"Oh just call him already!" Junior interrupted, throwing his hands up in the air.

Tucker elbowed him playfully. "Fine, jerk." He said.

Junior grinned and pushed him with both hands, managing to make Tucker stumble back a few feet. "Fine yourself!" he said, quite proud of his mediocre comeback.

Tucker stuck his tongue out at Junior, not caring whether he appeared immature. He tapped Wash's contact and pressed the call button. A few seconds passed and all they heard was the ringing of the phone. Junior held his breath.

 _"Hey, Tucker. Good morning."_ Wash sounded tired. Then again, he was always tired. Tucker could tell he didn't get nearly as much sleep as a normal person should.

"H-hi. How are you?" Tucker answered, feeling awkward.

There was a slight pause. _"I'm good. How are you?"_

Tucker cleared his throat. "I'm good too... Look, I called because I need a favor." He waited for Wash's reply with bated breath.

 _"Alright. What's the favor?"_ Came the only slightly apprehensive answer.

Tucker opened his mouth and said far more than he needed to. "I need you to watch Junior for the day until I get back from work. He's sick and can't go to school and I can't call the babysitter because she's apparently a bitch and I would call Grif's sister, Kai, but she's unreliable and tends to disappear for long periods of time and I really need someone to-"

Wash interrupted in a firm but warm tone. His voice was reassuring. _"Tucker. Calm down. I'll do it."_

"Really?"

 _"Yes. I'll be there in fifteen minutes. I'm bringing my violin."_ Wash said, tacking the last sentence on almost as an afterthought.

"O-okay. That's cool. Cool. Thanks so much, Wash. You're amazing." Tucker let his shoulders relax.

Wash chuckled. _"You're amazing too, Tucker. See you in a bit."_

"Bye." Tucker half-whispered.

Wash headed out of his apartment and got into his car. As he turned the intention and started down the road, he remembered York and Carolina and Mother of Invention. He was supposed to go meet them. Well, technically, Carolina had said 'If you want to come by'. That meant he didn't have to if he didn't want to. Plus, Tucker needed him. And he wasn't ready to see York yet.

Wash pulled up in front of Tucker's apartment and jogged up the stairs. He knocked on the heavy door and heard the clunking of heavy boots across the floor.

"Hey Wash." Tucker said as he opened the door.

Wash's mouth curled up in a smile. "Even with boots on, you're still short." He observed. His comment got quite the response out of Tucker. "I'm not short! You're just tall!" He said, dragging Wash inside and all but slamming the door behind him.

"Now say hi to Junior.” Wash gave Junior a small wave. “Don't set anything on fire and please..." Tucker pulled Wash's head down and cupped his face with his hands.

"Don't let my baby boy die." He said in a startlingly serious tone of voice that Wash had never heard him use before. His brown eyes had a dullness to them that he didn’t like.

Wash put his hands over Tucker's and held them in place, the cold of Wash's fingers warmed by the heat of Tucker's own pressed against his face.

“Tucker. It’s going to be fine. It’s only for the day. I promise he’ll be safe.” Wash assured him, softening the moment with that heart-melting smile of his. Tucker pulled his hands away from Wash’s face and sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m just really worked up and I care so much about him and I’d never forgive myself if I let something happen-”

Tucker paused, his voice cracking. He took a steadying breath and Wash’s stomach took this opportunity to ruin the mood and let out a growl of hunger.

Wash reddened. Tucker frowned. “Dude. When was the last time you ate?” His voice was stern but inquisitive and he tilted his head to the side. Wash winced.

“Yesterday afternoon?” He answered, his voice pitching up. Tucker stood on his tiptoes to get closer to Wash’s eye level.

“Get your hot ass in the kitchen and eat something right now.” He glowered at Wash and pointed violently to the kitchen where Junior was washing his oatmeal bowl. Wash dwelled on Tucker’s comment much more than he should have. Friends can complement each other’s attractive attributes, right? Yeah, right. He assured himself of this as he turned to look at Junior.

Junior turned around and called out to Wash. “Do you want some cereal? Or toast? You’ll let me make toast, right?” He asked helpfully. Tucker shook his head fondly, a small smile on his lips.

Wash ushered Tucker towards the door. “I’ll be fine. I’ll remember to eat something and Junior is going to be okay. So please get going or you’ll be late.”

Tucker let Wash open the door for him. “I’m already late.” He muttered. Wash patted him on the head. “It doesn’t matter. Go to work, make some money and remember…” He tilted Tucker’s head up to meet his eyes. “You’re a kickass father.”

Tucker felt his heart beating loudly in his chest. He leaned a fraction of an inch closer to Wash’s face and whispered “thanks” before pulling away and walking out of his apartment and down the steps to his car.

Wash was left standing in the open doorway watching Tucker’s car drive away. He lingered for a second before retreating inside to the warmth of the apartment and closing the door firmly behind him. He took off his jacket and boots, brought his violin case to the living room and sat down with his sheet music spread out on the coffee table.

A few minutes later, Junior came in with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He set it down on an open space on the table without a word. “Thanks buddy.” Wash muttered as he scribbled over a section of notes that he utterly despised. "Wash, do you want some tea? Your fingers are turning purple." Junior asked, looking as his long, slender fingers that were indeed purple from the cold.

Wash looked up at Junior and gave him a smile. "Sure." he said and Junior nodded. He retreated into the kitchen again and began to hum something while the soft clinking of mugs and the sound of roiling water reached Wash’s ears. Junior came out of the kitchen and walked up the stairs to his room, his footsteps thudding across the wood floors. Wash watched him go. He watched him come back down too, now enrobed in a soft wool blanket that looked far too big for him. It was teal, Tucker’s favorite color.

Junior brought out mugs of tea and Wash’s eyes lit up.

“Thanks so much!” He exclaimed, eagerly taking the mug from Junior and letting the warmth seep into his cold hands. Junior sat down next to him, looking like a cozy little teal dumpling in the too-big blanket. “You’re welcome. I had a feeling you would like Chai.” He smiled a tiny smile with just a hint of smugness behind it. “My throat was scratchy so I made myself some throat coat.” He held up the mug, a soothing honey scent wafting from it.

Wash couldn’t help but smile. “I've only been around you for ten minutes, but you are the best kid I’ve ever met.” His eyes were filled with adoration. Junior grinned. “Thanks. I get it from dad.” He said. “He talks a lot about you. Mostly about your freckles. He thinks your freckles are cute.” Wash lifted an eyebrow. “Oh he does, does he?” A smirk played across his face. "First time I've heard about it."

Junior looks genuinely sheepish. "Sorry. I thought he told you already." Wash shrugged and sipped his chai. He continued to pore over his music and occasionally Junior would ask him a question about it and Wash would answer with passion and probably ten times as many words as he needed to.

After a half hour of Junior curled up next to him on the couch in relative silence, Wash stood up and stretched. "Okay, my back hurts. Do you want to do something?" Junior hopped up from the couch and almost tripped over the edge of his blanket.

"Yeah! Let's bake a cake!" He shouted. Wash was taken aback. "What?" He asked.

Junior shuffled across the floor to the kitchen and wiped his nose on his sleeve again. Wash followed him with a box of tissues and his empty sandwich plate and mug. "Junior, don't wipe your nose on your sleeve. It's unhygienic." He handed the box of tissues over and Junior grabbed one. "Thanks."

Wash cleaned his dishes and sat down at the kitchen table across from Junior, a cookbook spread out between them. "I take it you like baking?" He assumed, flicking his eyes up to meet Junior's.

"Yeah, it's really fun. Everything tastes so good and it really helps me to forget all the bad things that happen. I can just focus on baking and let everything else go away." Junior said, mostly to himself.

Wash frowned. He wanted to know more about the 'bad things' but he knew it was never good to pry. Instead, he read through the ingredients list for a chocolate cake that Junior had picked. "I bet you're good at math." He mused. "All that measuring, you know?" Junior smiled. "Yeah, I think so. It's my best subject." Wash patted Junior's head. "Wow, even I'm jealous. I was never that good at math.

Junior helped Wash find all the ingredients and set them out on the counter. Wash glanced down at Junior, who was tying an apron around his waist. "Okay, let's make a cake." He said.

* * *

 

Carolina groaned. Her car was stuck in rush hour traffic, she had a huge dog stuck in the back of the car and Kimball was pouting about not being able to sleep in. Just a regular Friday morning for her. She finally made it off the packed freeway and into a nice neighborhood she hadn't been to before.

She had texted Church earlier and after he gave her the address of their new house, she had packed Kimball and the dog into her small car and headed out as soon as she could.

Carolina pulled into the driveway of a small gray house with cobalt blue shutters and a real lawn. A lawn big enough for a dog. Fuck. Yes. She and Kimball got out and walked up to the front door. She knocked three times and looked up at the house while she waited.

Church had just bought the new house and wanted to get as far away from their old apartment as quickly as he could. Caboose didn't have a problem with that. They had simply packed all their belongings into a rental truck and driven to the new house all in the span of two days. It helped that they didn't own very much.

Church opened the door a crack and peered out through it. "Oh. Hey. Don't come in, there's boxes fucking everywhere. It's a pain in the ass to move in two days. Did you uh... Did you bring the dog?" He whispered the last word just in case Caboose was nearby. He hadn't even hesitated when Carolina asked if he wanted it.

Carolina pointed to the car where the dog could be seen staring longingly out the window. "Courtesy of my asshole friend." She mumbled. Church let the glimmer of a smile pass over his face before turning around and yelling "Caboose! Get in here!" across the house.

Caboose'e heavy footsteps could be heard thumping down the stairs and he came over to Church's side. "What's wrong?" he asked, assuming the only reason Church would call for him was if something had gone horribly wrong.

Church opened the door all the way and gestured to the car where Kimball was retrieving the dog. "Surprise." He said, startling Carolina with the amount of emotion he poured into the word.

Caboose's face lit up with joy and he nearly tripped over his own feet as he sprinted down the driveway to meet the dog and Church could already see how much they loved each other. But to be fair, Caboose tended to fall in love with every dog he ever saw.

Carolina glanced over at Church with an eyebrow raised expectantly. Church caught her gaze but didn't his eyes linger. "Thanks," he grumbled, turning his attention back to Caboose. "Maybe now he can stay out of my way while I unpack." Carolina directed her knowing smirk to Kimball now and they both shared a silent smile. Church walked over to Caboose and gave the dog a scratch behind his ear.

"What are you going to name him?" He asked. Caboose tilted his head slightly, clearly deep in thought. "Freckles," he answered. Church smiled, on the verge of a laugh. "Cute," he muttered.

Church rallied Caboose and the dog around to the backyard and said goodbye to Kimball and Carolina. The two women got back in the car and headed back the way they came and headed towards downtown to meet York and his mystery friend at Mother of Invention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took SO LONG I'm sorry. I'll try to get the next one out by next week and there'll be some Grimmons, more Wash and Junior baking and the long awaited York meeting and the mystery character reveal.


	7. And place a kiss upon my lips.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damn, back at it again with Grimmons, Kimballina and the long awaited REVEAL! We get to see who the mystery person is and Tucker gets back from work.

The sky was overcast and the threat of more snow hung overhead. Grif trudged down the sidewalk towards a small yet inviting little café. He opened the door and a little bell dinged once. A tired looking woman, the owner, looked up from the counter and smiled at him. Grif was a regular here and the owner knew him well. She gave him a wave and he returned it with a nod of his head.

He put his coat up on a hook and looked around, pretending to take in the familiar cozy environment he knew so well. There was a warm glow from a fire crackling away in one corner and comfy chairs were arranged in a semi-circle around it. Grif was so used to this place he could probably navigate it with his eyes closed. He was looking for someone. Someone who might not even be here yet.

Grif made his way closer to the arrangement of chairs and caught sight of a metal hand drumming its fingers on the armrest of one. He peeked around the back of the chair and caught sight of a samiliar pointy freckled nose that he'd recognize anywhere.

"Simmons. You're here." Grif said, more alarm in his voice than he wanted.

Simmons almost jumped out of his seat. "Holy Shi- Grif? You scared the hell out of me. How are you so quiet?" he demanded, swiveling around to meet Grif's gaze. His heart was pounding. Being lost in thought really let one tune everything out.

Grif shrugged, slumping down into the neighboring chair and scooting it around so he was facing Simmons. "Eh. It's a gift. One of many I've been burdened with," he said with a dramatic sigh.

Simmons raised an eyebrow. "Oh really? I'm assuming one of these gifts is the ability to persuade a certain person to meet you at a certain place for what you explicitly said 'isn't a date?'" Simmons brough his hands up and made air-quotes, his metal hand clinking with the movement.

Grif shifted in his seat, turning to face the fire so he could blame his blush on the heat. "Probably. Maybe. I dunno." He glanced back over at Simmons and caught his teasing expression. "Do you want food?" He asked.

Simmons hauled himself out of his seat and stretched. "Yep. I haven't eaten since eight a.m." he mumbled as he walked off towards the counter to order. Grif got up out of his seat too but with more effort. The chairs were so comfy. "And why exactly haven't you eaten?" He asked Simmons as they both stood at the counter trying to decide what to get.

Simmons made a resigned movement with his shoulders. "I have this project... I dont know if I've told you yet. My acting group is showcasing monologues later this month."

Simmons ordered a sandwich and a cup of chamomile tea. He waited patiently while Grif internally battled with himself over wether or not he wanted the Valentine's day special or his favorite stew. He eventually decided on both and led the way to a small table in the corner of the café by the window. Simmons followed close behind and continued with his story.

"I would be fine with it if we were doing anything but original ones. But of course, it's just my luck that we have to write a minimum of three thousand words about something traumatic and then perform it on stage with- wait for it- a fucking string accompaniment. For 'atmospherinc assistance' or something. So I've been on an erratic eating schedule lately trying to figure out what I'm going to write a monologue about."

Grif felt his eyes snap immediately to Simmons' arm. It was obvious to him. If he was in Simmons' position he would definitly write about his tragic accident or whatever caused him to lose his arm. Simmons, however, didn't need any more attention drawn to his arm or the story behind it. He instinctively drew it back when he caught Grif's gaze.

'No. I'm expected to write about that. I'm not going to'- is what he wanted to say- but thankfully their food came and the two lapsed into a comfortable silence and didn't have to continue the conversation. Simmons looked over at the scruffy Hawaiian man across from him. He thought back to just a couple of days ago when the first met. He knew even back then that they would be good friends. He liked the sense of comfort he felt when he was around Grif. He was comfortable with himself.

He was the kind of person who you just wanted to sit with, wrapped up in a blanket with a cup of tea, and talk to for hours and hours. He knew how to listen. Simmons had found that out right off the bat. Grif could be loud too sometimes. He could be lazy, of course but when it came to things that were important to him he put all his effort into them.

Simmons tapped his prosthetic on the table and looked out the window, sipping his tea slowly. He glanced over and caught Grif staring at him.

"I'm deathly afraid of Bats," said Grif. Simmons cocked his head.

"I'm terrified of them. It's pretty bad. I get paralyzed with fear and I forget how breathe properly." Simmons listened to Grif continue. "Maybe, since you don't want to talk about your arm-" Grif took his hand and placed it gently on top of Simmons' metal arm. "-then you could talk about a fear. Do you have any?"

Simmons chuckled weakly. "Too many to count." He stared at Grif's hand atop his own. Grif was making little circular patterns with his thumb, unaware that Simmons couldn't feel anything on that hand.

"I'm afraid of Snakes. They scare the hell out of me. All weird and wiggly." Simmons shuddered. "Seems like the best option to go with considering most of my other fears are either irrational scenarios, abstract concepts or intangible thoughts I have in the dead of night."

Grif smiled. "You're such a fucking nerd." He shook his head affectionately. Simmons didn't smile. "Rude." He muttered, taking his hand away from Grif's.

Grif realized his mistake almost immediately. "No no, it's a thing in my circle of friends. We tend to insult each other a lot, like a lot. But we don't mean anything by it. It's just stupid fun." He sat, wringing his hands as Simmons raised a skeptical eyebrow at him.

"Dipshit." A smile broke across Simmon's face. Grif started to laugh.  "You can do better" he teased.

Simmons took this as a challenge. "Hmmm... Asshole."

Grif leaned back in his chair, a smug grin slapped on his face. "Better."

"Uh... Fatass?" Simmons tried, unsure wether or not his weight was a touchy subject for Grif.

Grif scoffed. "More of me to love, bitch." Simmons sighed. "Okay, I'm done. I'm not going to sit here all day trying to break your spirit." He started to get up and Grif followed him to the door, grabbing his coat on the way out. "You said earlier you needed a string accompaniment?" Grif mentioned.

Simmons nodded. "Yeah, I haven't had time to look for one yet."

Grif frowned. He quickly stepped in front of Simmons, blocking his path.

"Dude. Let me be your string accompaniment. And I'm performing at a strings showcase tomorrow evening, you should come to that." Grif said, shrugging in an attempt to appear noncommittal. He failed. The tone of his voice emphasized how much he actually cared.

Simmons stuttered slightly. "I-uh... S-sure." Was all he got out.

Grif squinted. "To which one?" He asked, moving out of Simmons' way so he could get to his car.

"To both. See you tomorrow." Simmons had regained what little composure he had and flashed Grif a smile as he ducked into his car and started it up. Grif stood rooted to the spot as Simmons drove away. No amount of cold or snow could drive away the warm feeling they both felt.

"Well that went well," Grif muttered as he turned around and headed back the way he came.

* * *

 

Carolina got out of her car and walked up to the door of Mother of Invention. She didn't even wait for Kimball as she wrenched open the door with plenty of force and headed inside, her footsteps heavy on the polished concrete floor. She looked around with a mix of anger, anticipation, excitement and twelve other emotions she didn't want to sift through at the moment.

At the far end of the room, tucked away in the corner was a square table with to people seated at it. One, she recognized immediately. York. The other had their blonde head turned away.

Carolina changed course and made her way to the table. Kimball caught up with her and had to half-jog to keep up. "I didn't realize your legs were this long." she mumbled.

As she got closer to the table, Carolina caught sight of the other person. Her eyes widened in astonishment and her jaw may or may not have dropped.

"North?"

Her question came out as barely a whisper but he heard it as well as if she had screamed.

North turned around and looked up at Carolina, his eyes sweeping over her face and briefly flicking to Kimball.

"Hey Carolina. It's been a while, hasn't it?" he said with his irresistible affectionate smile. York turned too, his face lighting up with joy.

"Lina! It's been too long! Did you get a haircut? Did you get... A girlfriend?" York's eyes went wide as he noticed Kimball standing next to Carolina with their hands intertwined. His mouth curled up into a smile, the scar running down his face wrinkled a bit. Carolina ignored his comment. So did Kimball.

Carolina took all of two seconds to process this happy reunion and the joyous greetings from her two friends. Then she remembered the year and a half when she thought they were both dead.

She sat down across from York with kimball next to her.

"Screw you, York," she said through gritted teeth. York furrowed his brow. "Wait, if this is because of the dog then I completely understand. But I'm in a relationship now and North wants us both to be monogamous. So no, you can not screw me." 

Carolina sputtered. "What the shit? You and- He's your- What about Wash? Did you two discuss this? Ever?" She looked from North to York and back again. Wash had never explicitly talked about his relationship with North but she had gathered that they had at least made it official at one point or another.

North shrugged. "We broke up right before he moved. He said he didn't want to 'keep me tethered' and that long-distance relationships never worked for him. But of course, I'm making it seem much less dramatic that is actually was." York couldn't suppress a small chuckle. "Yeah, he always was quite the drama queen."

North shrugged. "We're still friends, though. As good as we were before. And now I have York. Everything worked out." He smiled again and looked over at Kimball who was just confused overall but did a good job hiding it.

"So how'd you two meet?" North asked. Kimball elbowed Carolina playfully. "This bitch kicked me in the face at dance class." She gestured to the now almost healed bruise on her face. York made a noise. "I know from personal experience how much that hurts." He stuck his tongue out at Carolina and she made an effort not to return the gesture. Instead she just glared daggers at him.

No matter how pissed she was at York, it was hard to stay mad at him. He rarely ever did anything out of spite. The rest of the afternoon was spent talking about light topics like what had happened over the past year and a half. Apparently both  North and York had adopted children. They seemed so happy together Carolina couldn't help but smile.

"Well, sorry to say but we have to get going." North spoke up after a silence. He glanced down at his phone. "We have to pick up Theta and Delta from South's place."

Carolina raised an eyebrow. "What."

North looked sheepish. "She moved here recently, I swear. I didn't tell you on purpose because she explicitly told me not to... It was probably supposed to be a surprise or something." He turned a deep shade of red. "Oops."

Carolina sighed. "I'll have to pay her a visit later." She turned to York. "I'm still pissed about the dog but I'm happy you're back in town and... I'm happy for you." Carolina stood up and stretched. York followed suit. She gave York's hand a squeeze and pulled him into a rib-crushing hug. He leaned in and and whispered to her. "I'm happy for you too. I'm glad you found your special someone." Carolina was about to argue that she and Kimball weren't dating (yet) but she thought against it. 'Let him be happy for me' she thought.

North made his way over to Carolina and have her and equally rib-crushing hug. "I'm so sorry we haven't contacted you. I'll explain why some other time. Maybe when Wash is around."

"Oh, that reminds me." Carolina tapped York on the shoulder and pulled him over. "Wash is performing tomorrow at the theatre as part of a strings showcase and it would be the best surprise to see you two. I already told him you're here, York, but he doesn't know that North's here too. So...?" North nodded vigorously. "Yes. Yes. I haven't heard him play in so long." York shrugged. "What the hell. We'll be there."

Carolina nodded. "You better. It says formalwear, so I'll leave that to you but please York, for the love of god, don't show up in that atrocious gold suit." York held his hands up. "No promises." He flashed a smile at Carolina.

North looked down at his phone again. "Okay, we really have to get going. South says she can't hold out much longer. Don't know what that could possibly mean, Theta's an angel." He put a hand to his chest and feigned an offended expression. York dragged him towards their car. "Bye Lina, it was so good to see you. I promise I'll text you from now on!"

Carolina waved as they got in their car and drove away. Once they were out of sight, she let out a long sigh. Kimball raised an eyebrow in lieu of a question and Carolina frowned. "York and I used to be together. It- it didnt work out. We had some... Differing opinions. It's a miracle he forgave me and were still friends. I would hate to have lost as amazing a friend as he." Kimball could have asked for details but she was competent enough to shut her mouth and not pry.

The drive back to their apartment complex was relatively quiet up until Carolina broke the silence with a jarring expletive. "Fuck. They have kids now? When did that happen?"  She tightened her grip on the steering wheel. "Of course, it's their fault for not calling or texting or anything... Fuckin' assholes. I missed so much."

Kimball put her hand on Carolina's arm. "Hey, it's their fault they kept you out of the loop. But it doesn't matter now." She slowly moved her hand up and down the length of Carolina's upper arm.

"At least them adopting was the most interesting thing that happened." Carolina muttered. She sighed again, but her shoulders weren't tense and she had loosened her grip on the steering wheel. Kimball stared out the window and watched the buildings pass by.

"Hey. Do you want to swing by the studio and get some practice in?" She asked, recognizing the part of town they were in. "We have 'La Bayadere' in a month and a few hours won't hurt."

Carolina glanced over at Kimball. Her mouth quirked up at the corners. "Why not?" She mused. Carolina changed lanes and headed off towards their dance studio, excited to get her mind off York and focus on the one thing she had complete control over: Dancing.

* * *

 

"Wash, Junior? Where are you guys?" Tucker called out to the empty living room. Wash's violin was sitting in it's open case on the couch, there was sheet music all over the coffee table and...

Tucker's mouth hung agape. He stared into the kitchen, his eyes wide and his brow furrowing in confusion.

"What the fuck did you do to my kitchen!?" He screeched. Junior took that moment to come thumping down the stairs with a towel around his head and his favorite fleece pajamas (the ones with the aliens) on. Tucker whipped his head around and made a strangled noise at his son while he gestured to the kitchen.

Junior winced. "Oopsie. I was supposed to clean that up. Sorry."

Tucker turned back to the kitchen and took another look at it. He let out something between a sigh and a groan.

There was flour covering the entire floor in a thin layer of 'fuck you'. It was on the counters too, and there were several distinct hand prints on the cabinets. Tiny ones, clearly Junior's, and larger ones. Ones with long, slender fingers splayed out as if scrambling for purpose on the smooth surface of the cabinet.

Junior got the broom and dustpan from the closet and began carefully sweeping up the flour from the floor.

"You were baking again, huh? It smells good," Tucker said, taking a washcloth and running it across the counters. Junior nodded. "It got a little out of hand. We made chocolate cake," Junior said, his voice clearer than it had been that morning.

"You feeling better, buddy?" Tucker asked, putting his hand to Junior's forehead. Junior nodded. "I am. I made some tea and now my throat feels better, and having a flour fight with Wash made me feel better too." Junior smiled, a dimple forming on his cheek.

Tucker raised his eyebrow. "Oh, so that's what happened?" He chuckled. "Who started it?" He asked, leaning down to get eye-level with Junior.

Junior looked around, as if Wash could be hiding anywhere. "Wash did."

Tucker snorted. "He did? Oddly enough, that sounds like him." He stood up again and ruffled the towel around Junior's head. "Is that why you took a shower? He got flour in your hair?" Tucker asked.

"No, that wasn't me. It was entirely his fault. He tried to throw the whole bag of flour on me but dumped in on himself instead." Wash leaned against the doorframe and smirked, his hazel eyes shimmering in the orange kitchen light. He had a towel around his neck, his hair was damp from showering and he had no shirt on.

Tucker put his hands on his hips and narrowed his eyes at Wash. "Put your shirt on." He demanded, noticing in detail that Wash had freckles all over. Not just his face, but his broad shoulders and glorious abs were adorned with speckles that Tucker couldn't help but refer to as 'fuckin' cute'. He wondered just how far down the freckles went.

Wash snapped his fingers and brought Tucker back to reality. "My eyes are up here." He teased, drawing Tucker's gaze reluctantly back up to his face. His face wasn't worse, though, so Tucker couldn't exactly complain.

"I would put on my own shirt but someone"- He shot a playfully evil glance at Junior- "smeared it with flour and, no offense, all your clothes are too small for me." Wash shrugged. He took the washcloth from a stunned Tucker and finished wiping down the counters.

"I made chicken soup, as per your cute son's request. It's on the stove and there's cake staying warm in the oven if you want either." Wash said as Junior finished up sweeping and scrambled into the living room.

"Wash! Wash, come on, you said you'd play!" Junior shouted from his spot on the couch. Wash shook his head. "I promised Junior I'd play video games with him after he showered and cleaned up."

Wash patted Tucker on the shoulder. "A promise is a promise. Come play with us if you want. Or not, you probably had a long day at work." He shrugged and went into the living room. He closed his violin case, gathered all his sheet music into a neat stack and wrapped Junior into his thick blanket.

Tucker stared at the two, comfortable in each other's presence already. Tucker could too easily imagine Wash in his life, making dinner together, cuddling on the couch and watching movies, maybe they could- 

Tucker shook himself out of the fantasy. What the fuck was he thinking. He had no right to imagine those kinds of things when he hadn't even decided what  he wanted. What he felt. He needed to sort himself out first. Tucker turned around and got himself some soup and a (huge) slice of cake.

He found a spot on the couch in between Junior and Wash and managed to partially cover himself in Junior's blanket, which he realized had come off of his bed, and watch the two destroy each other in Halo.

After Tucker had finished his food and Junior had handed his controller to Tucker in favor of falling asleep right where he was, Wash tried to start up a conversation.

"The Strings Showcase is tomorrow." He said lamely.

"Mmmmhm. You'll be great. Seems like you've got your shit together." Tucker mumbled while he snuck up behind Wash's character and slashed at him with a sword.

"Believe me, Tucker, I most definitely do not have my shit together." Wash replied, sighing as he waited to respawn.

"Oh yeah, Mr. 'I forgot to eat today'." Tucker huffed.

"Wash scoffed at him. "I assure you, I have a very healthy, balanced diet. That was a one-time thing. I just get so caught up in work I forget about anything else."

Tucker smiled slightly as the screen announced his victory and he shut down the console. "I'll take your word for it." He tucked Junior's blanket more snugly under his chin. "Thanks... For taking care of Junior. He seems to really like you."

Wash smiled at that, his eyes softening.

"I hope he didn't annoy you much. I know how much he likes to boast about his dad." Tucker said, more to himself.

Wash shrugged. "Eh. Not too much. Don't tell him I told you, but he accidentally mentioned how much you like my freckles," Wash whispered, leaning in so close that Tucker could have sworn Wash could hear him internally screaming.

"Well, yeah, you're fucking adorable." Tucker was thankful for the low light or Wash would have definitely seen how deeply he was blushing.

" _They're_ fucking adorable. Freckles. On anyone. I just like freckles in general." Tucker said, trying to cover up his previous blunder and shrugging noncommittally.

Wash didn't look too convinced. "Sure," was all he said, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Tucker scooted closer to Junior and covered himself with more blanket.

"Are you cold?" Wash asked, his eyebrow raised slightly. Tucker shook his head. "Not too much." He said. Wash didn't say anything else. Instead, he leaned over and wrapped his arms around Tucker, reaching all the way over to pull Junior and his blanket closer.

Tucker inhaled slowly, trying not to focus on the way Wash's breath made his eyelashes move. "Wash?" He whispered.

Wash hummed quietly, the sound reverberating in his chest. 

"How do you always smell like apples? Even after showering. Like, I don't own any apple scented shampoos or anything like that. It's weird. In a good way." Tucker said, regretting it almost immediately but not able to stop.

Wash exhaled slowly. "It's probably my lotion. My skin gets really dry so I have some on hand all the time." Tucker absent-mindedly reached over and took Wash's hand. "Doesn't feel dry. It must be good lotion." He mumbled.

"It is." Wash let his head come to rest on Tucker's shoulder and he laced their fingers together, letting the silence speak as he listened to the breathing of the smaller man next to him.

"You should probably take Junior upstairs. He hates waking up anywhere but in his bed." Tucker said suddenly, breaking the silence and pulling his hand away almost forcefully.

Wash nodded, picking his head up and noticing how cold he felt once he stood up, breaking away from Tucker. He sighed softly before leaning down and picking up Junior, blanket and all. He stood up and started towards the stairs, gathering up the loose ends of the blanket until it looked like he was carrying a huge ball of teal fluff with a face.

Tucker watched him go, realizing how right it felt to be so close to Wash. He hadn't expected it to take this short a time but he did say he would sort out his feelings first. Tucker considered them sorted out. He was falling in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that was... I can't wait to post the next chapter. It has some shit in it. Good shit. The best shit. High-quality shit from an equally shitty person.
> 
> Just a reminder that I love getting comments and thank you everyone who has already commented as well as those of you who have given me kudos. You all make me smile~


	8. Hold me close please, never let go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donut and Wash talk about his feelings, everyone gets ready for the showcase and Simmons cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooooooooohhhhhhh it's-a-me! Just a reminder that comments and kudos are just magnificent and this is entirely un beta-ed and largely un-proofread, so any mistakes are purely my own.

"Donut, when did you realize you were in love with Doc?" Wash asked, leaning across the small café table they both sat at. Wash had about two hours to kill before his performance and Donut had insisted on taking him downtown to his favorite café to chat and help Wash de-stress.

"Well, it was somewhere between when he started calling me pet names and that time he kissed me in the snow on our way to Caboose's art show on my birthday" Donut mused, tilting his head and looking up at the ceiling wistfully. "I haven't really told him yet, although we did cuddle up on the couch a couple nights ago and that was nice. I think I'll serenade him one evening when he comes home from work. Wouldn't that be the most romantic thing?" Wash could have sworn he saw hearts in Donut's eyes.

Wash suppressed a laugh. "Pet names? Kisses in the snow? You two sound like The best and worst rom-coms ever made." Donut blushed. "Aww, thanks."

They settled into a silence for a minute and Donut stared at Wash, taking in the subtle hints of confusion, uncertainty and sleeplessness he didn't try too hard to conceal. "Wash... What's wrong?" Donut asked, his own face creasing with intense worry. Wash suddenly found his chai very interesting.

"Nothing. I'm fine." He said dismissively, even though he knew Donut would see through his lie.

"You're not." Ah, there it was.

"Washington, you are not fine. You're going to tell me what's the matter, because it'll make you feel better, and then were going to talk. About the matter." Donut said this with such a tone that Wash couldn't help but sit up straighter and stare him straight in the eyes, looking for the source of his sudden change.

"Okay. Fine. I'm kind of- the thing is- I may or may not have a crush on this guy. I'm not going to say who, because as I said I don't know if it's a crush yet. But this guy, he's really great. He's a great friend, a great da-" Wash stopped himself from saying 'Dad'. He didn't want to give away the identity of his maybe crush. Donut would freak. He could not under any circumstances let slip that he might have the hots for Tucker.

"I helped him out yesterday with some... Things and it was really nice and I didn't want it to end but... The point is, he's an amazing person and I'm losing sleep trying to work out how I feel. It's like... I need to know if I like if or not. It's tearing me apart and I'm scared I might fuck up my performance because of it."

_I'm scared I might fuck up our friendship._

"I need your help."

Donut opened and closed his mouth a few times, at a loss for words. Wash wasn't surprised. It was rare that he opened up this much about his feelings. He only did that for two people, and one of them was out of his life.

"Look, Wash. I pretend I'm an expert on all things romance. The truth is, I only know what works for me. I can't tell you how or when or where to do anything. You have to figure out what you want. You have put yourself and your feelings first. And... That's not something I can help with. This is for you to figure out." Donut reached across the table and put a hand on Wash's shoulder. Wash tensed slightly, his brow furrowed into a slight frown.

"But I called you here for gossip. So that's what you're going to get." Donut put down his mug of cider and crossed his legs. Wash perked up, the cloud hanging over him thinned and he leaned his forearms on the table, listening intently.

"I went shopping with Carolina and Kimball a couple days ago and those two are the cutest! I bet it'll only take them until the end of the month to profess their love for each other." Donut sighed wistfully. Maybe we should start a betting pool." Wash snorted. "I'll get in on that."

"Oh! And I saw Grif and Simmons yesterday. They were sitting at a café and talking. I swear I even saw Grif holding Simmons' hand!" Donut clapped his hands together gleefully.  "I was starting to think he would be a lonely grump for the rest of his life."

Wash smiled at this. It warmed his heart to see his friends, even those he had only known for a short time, finding someone special. He thought about Donuts's words, about figuring himself out first. The last thing he wanted to be doing right before a nerve racking performance was sifting through his emotions. That never went smoothly for him.

"Hey Wash? Washington, are you listening to me?" Donut tapped his arm repeatedly and drew him out of his thoughts. "Hmmm? Oh, sorry. I was lost in thought. What were you saying?"

Donut made an exasperated noise. "I was just saying how disappointed I am that you haven't invited me to your apartment yet. I'd really like to get down and dirty in there."

Wash blinked. "Excuse me?" He asked, eyes wide.

"I mean redecorating! Everyone needs to spruce things up once in a while. I'm willing to bet your apartment is mostly gray, judging by your choice of clothing." Donut eyed Wash with a scrutinizing gaze, as if he could see into Wash's apartment if he looked hard enough at Wash's gray hoodie.

"But gray goes with everything. And I was told a long time ago by someone close to me that gray was my color. He bought me almost every item of clothing I own." Wash picked at a tuft of lint on his sleeve.

Donut finished off the last of his cider and leaned back in his chair. "I will admit gray looks good on you. Somehow it brings out your freckles." Donut tapped a thoughtful finger on his chin. Wash immediately thought back to the previous evening. Junior mentioning that Tucker liked his freckles, and Tucker admitting it and failing horribly to cover the slip-up. Tucker pushing him away and refusing to look him in the eyes. It was so cold that night and after he had left Tucker's apartment he yearned for the warmth of his embrace.

Wash realized how long it had been since he was in a relationship and much he missed it. He ran a hand over his scar, once again lost in thought. North had liked his freckles too. Wash frowned at the thought and reminded himself that North wasn't here. He sighed and put his head in his hands. Donut stopped mid-sentence and make a little noise.

"Oops, I gotta go. I have to be back soon to get ready and make sure Frankie doesn't look like a train wreck. Just remember I'm always available to talk. Except Tuesdays between six and eight o'clock, that's when I have choir practice. Bye!" Donut waved goodbye and grabbed his coat.

"See you soon, you'll do great! Don't let anything get you down! And figure yourself out!" Donut called as he walked out of the café and nearly sprinted down the sidewalk.

Wash let out a half-groan and let his forehead hit the table. He checked his phone and saw it was almost six. He should probably keep his promise to Tucker and eat something. Inhaling deeply and stretching his arms, he decided to order a sandwich.

Halfway through his meal, his phone lit up twice and he frowned, looking at it inquisitively. The first message was from Carolina.

Carolina: _York's coming to the showcase. Just thought you should be mentally prepared._

Wash almost choked on his food. Oops. He had forgotten to text her about the meeting that day before. Hurriedly wiping off his hands he shot her a hasty message.

Wash: _Sorry, I forgot about meeting him yesterday. Tucker wanted me to watch his kid._

Carolina: _It's fine. I had Kimball with me, she stopped me from beating York's face in._

Wash chuckled. He thought with a bit too much curiosity wether or not she would have actually beat him up had Kimball not been there as a witness.

Wash remembered the second message and his eyes went wide as he saw who it was from. Tucker. He quickly opened it, noticing the massage had a image attached. It was a picture of Junior taken from a sloppy angle. He was smiling mischievously and had the last piece of cake in his hand. The picture was captioned ' _Traitor. Junior wishes you good luck since he's not allowed to stay up late enough to come see you perform._ '

Wash opened his camera and snapped a quick photo of his tired smiling face, writing ' _Tell him thanks. Maybe I should give myself a bedtime_.' he finished his sandwich while he waited for Tucker's response. The sky outside was tinted just slightly orange, the clouds having thinned enough to see the descending sun.

Tucker: _Hell yeah, you look like shit. I could take out my trash in the bags under your eyes._

Wash couldn't suppress the giggles that burst forth upon reading Tucker's reply. He got one or two weird looks from people across the café. He took a moment to steady his breathing and make sure he wouldn't choke next time he tried to drink something.

Wash: _Haha_.

He paused before sending it, his thumb hovering over the screen.

Wash: _Haha. You're coming tonight, right?_

This time, he sent it before he could convince himself otherwise. Watching the sky outside darken somehow soothed and excited him at the same time.

Tucker: _Yeah, I'm coming._

Tucker: _Bow chicka bow wow._

Wash snorted. His eyebrows furrowed into a sort of confused amusement. He wasn't even going to ask.

Wash: _Good. I have to go get ready now. See you there._

He turned off his phone and paid for his food, heading out into the darkening and ever-frigid evening. The drive back to his apartment was uneventful and he flicked on the lights, sighing as he took in the basic furnishings and relatively gray color scheme. Donut was right. He did need to redecorate.

Wash shrugged out of his coat and boots and changed into the steel gray suit he had for orchestra practice and performances. He straightened his lemon yellow tie (some would argue it was chartreuse) and ran his fingers once through his hair, getting it to stick up in a more dignified manner. He nodded to himself in the mirror and considered for a second covering up his scar.

Wash headed out of his apartment with half and hour to spare, his violin safely in its case slung across his back and the tiniest bit of concealer masking the scar he was so self-conscious about.

* * *

 

Donut threw open the door and nearly made Doc jump out of his seat. Donut rushed over to him and dragged him up the stairs. "Donut, what the-" Doc didn't have any time to finish.

"We have to get ready for Wash and Grif's showcase and two hours is not nearly enough time, Frankie!" Donut was already fussing over Doc's hair. "Do you still have that suit from whatever medical work party you went to months ago?" He asked, trying desperately to make Doc's curls sit flat.

Doc nodded. "Yeah... In the closet. Donut, stop. I know from experience my hair can not be straightened no matter how long you sit here." He gently tugged Donuts's hand away from his head and held it in his hand. "Now you go get yourself ready and I'll take care of my own needs." He smiled, a little tried around the edges but Donut reluctantly headed for his own room.

"I promised Wash you wouldn't look like a train-wreck. Don't make me a liar," Donut called from around the corner, a playful tone in his voice. Doc snorted. "I never look like a train-wreck." He countered. Donut was silent for a second before poking his head in the doorway with a raised eyebrow. "Well, there was that one time..." He gave Doc a helpful gesture. "That was finals week when I was still in med school and you know it doesn't count!" Doc shouted as Donut left his view once again with a snicker.

"It didn't count." Doc mumbled, rummaging around in his closet and finally pulling out a pressed suit of a deep violet which he had worn a grand total of once at the aforementioned work party and almost forgotten it existed.

He put it on over a plain white dress shirt and his favorite Bowie which had been a birthday gift from Donut years ago. He fixed his cuffs and cleaned his glasses, nodded to himself in the mirror and exited his room to wait for Donut.

Donut didn't take nearly as long as he could have. Mostly because he had already showered and styled his hair. He already had his outfit picked out and on, now all he had to do was decide what pair of shoes to wear. This was quite an ordeal for Donut. On one hand, he would most likely be standing for a couple of hours talking with various people so something comfortable would be best. On the other hand, he wanted to be fabulous. And being fabulous sometimes came at the expense of comfort.

Doc gave the door a tentative knock and was answered by a 'Don't come in, I haven't picked out my shoes yet!" Doc gave his watch a quick glance. "We have to get going soon, sweet." He listened at the door and heard a thump. "Ouch."

"Donut, you okay?"

Donut stood up and put on his other shoe, a cozy black flat, and composed himself. "Yes. I'm fine. Let's go already." He said quickly, picking up his coat from the bed and opening his bedroom door. He nearly hit Doc in the nose as he did.

"Oh- oh wow. You look astounding, Donut." Stepping back, he stared at Donut, his friend, roommate, person he had kissed once and kind of wanted to again-

Donut was wearing a short sleeved violet dress that reached his knees and matched almost exactly the suit Doc had on. Doc felt his face flush slightly. Donut had done it on purpose.

"Thanks. You do too. Matchy-matchy, eh?" He smiled a sly smile and took Doc's hand. They headed out of their apartment and into the February evening chill, both still clinging to each other's arms.

* * *

 

"Caboose! Stop messing with your hair! I'm gonna have to redo it again! No, stop. Don't fucking- I swear to god you piss me off sometimes." Church was sitting on the kitchen counter, half-open boxes all around them, patting Caboose's hair back down. This was one of the few times he had been able to sit still which his hair was brushed and Church was getting fed up with how often Caboose reached a hand up to admire the softness.

"No seriously, if you don't stop we're going to be late." Church hopped off the counter and grabbed his keys, throwing Caboose's jacket at him and checking Freckles' food and water before beckoning Caboose to the front door. "Come on, come on, we have to get going!" He opened the door and let the rush of cold air breeze past his face. Caboose caught up with him in a moment and they both stepped out, Church locking the door behind them and Caboose waving goodbye to Freckles through the window.

"Buckle up, buddy." He reminded Caboose as they got into Church's tiny car. Caboose pulled the seatbelt lacrosse his chest and clicked it into place. He immediately began petting his hair again. "It's just so fluffy now! I like it when my hair is fluffy." Seeing Caboose stroking the copious amounts of chestnut curls he had gave him a strange feeling, like he was watching babies meeting dogs for the first time. It was weird.

* * *

 

It was pitch black outside now, the sun having long decided to retire below the horizon and Wash was heading towards the front doors of the theatre with a quickened pace. He wove through the crowd of dignified attendees and made for the side door at the back of the theatre where he would meet with the other performers.

Wash spotted Grif leaning on his Cello case and eating what could only be an entire pack of Oreos. Wash waved briefly and Grif caught his eye, motioning him over.

"Dude, you look sharp." Grif observed. Wash loosened his hands from the death grip they were giving his case strap and smiled.

"Thanks. You do too." He admired the black suit Grif was wearing and the bright orange dress shirt under it. Grif had never been a tie kind of guy, so he never wore one. He argued that he would be behind his instrument the whole time and no one would be able to tell anyway.

Wash fidgeted with the cuffs of his suit and looked nervously about him. He was fine. He did this all the time. But the thought of York being in the audience... Wash didn't know how he felt about that. He hadn't played for York or North or anyone from his old job, his 'past life' in years. It was jarring, thinking of York, his friend who he hadn't seen in years, smiling up at him, his scar crinkling the familiar way it did.

Grif nudged him with his elbow and held out the pack of Oreos to him. Wash tentatively took two and shoved them into his mouth. "Wash, you're a mess. Calm the fuck down. I thought you were used to this kind of thing. How long have you been performing on stage? Five, six years?" Grif asked, sitting down in a metal folding chair and dragging his cello case over to lean against his legs.

Wash sat down next to him and lay his violin case across his legs. "Ten." He mumbled. Grif grunted. "Shit. And you've had stage fright all that time?"

Wash shook his head. "No. I've never. I just get a minor case of nerves, you know. All the time. Not to mention a friend I used to work with is going to be here, probably in the front row sitting with Carolina and the rest. I haven't seen him in a year and a half and my brain won't shut. Up." He hit the side of his head somewhat playfully. 

Grif raised an eyebrow, his gaze flicking to the dwindling number of people in the room. "So you got the jitters because you don't want to look like a total dipshit in front of your cool friend?" Wash nodded warily. "Yeah?" it was more of a question than an answer. Grif shrugged. "'Kay. Do whatever, just don't bring me into it, man. You'll probably be fine." He clapped Wash on the shoulder and stood up. He silently took his Cello out of its case and walked over to the small door leading to stage left.

Wash listened to the copious applause as the current performer finished, took a bow and came walking down the steps past Grif with a spring in her step, carrying her viola as if it was the most precious thing in the world. Who knew, to her, it might have been. Grif looked back and gave Wash a nod of encouragement, which Wash did his best to return. Grif then took a visibly large breath and surged forward, up the steps and onto the stage. He had to squint, the lights were so bright. They were all directed at him, making it hard to see the audience.

Despite the brightness, he could still make out the glint of metal and the reflection of a pair of glasses as Simmons gave him a small wave and a huge smile. Grif suppressed the equally huge smile he wanted to let burst forth and sat down quickly. He took up his bow and filled the expectant silence with the deep reverberating tones and wavering notes of the piece he poured the better half of a week's work and his entire soul into.

Simmons couldn't keep the tears from falling. He knew music could be emotional, powerful but he didn't think it could be like this. He had to take off his glasses and wipe his eyes several times, listening to the sound filling his ears. He stared up at the stage and the man on it, swaying slightly with the movement of his bow and leaning into every pull. It seemed as if he was part of the music himself. Simmons made it his mission to track down Grif after the show and tell him over and over again how much he loved it.

* * *

 

Grif stepped off the stage and patted Wash on the shoulder as he walked by. "You got this. And FYI, it's fucking impossible to see anyone's face from up there." He mumbled. Wash gave him a firm but nervous nod, taking step after step into the comparatively blinding lights of the stage. He gave a small smile to the audience and adjusted his violin slightly. He glanced down at the sheet music in front of him, his mind drawing a blank for a split second before he caught sight of Tucker's enthusiastic smile and he remembered how to play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn though, what a cliffhanger. Next time you can expect maybe a little bit of jealousy, I dunno? It's basically going to be a dialogue-heavy chapter where everyone talks about shit. Gonna maybe have some fluff? Let's see. I plan on making it a long ass chapter so it might be posted in a little over a week.
> 
> And also... Look at those chapter titles being all poetic and shit! Whaaaat?


	9. Catch me if I start to fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaaand here it is! The long-ass chapter you've all been waiting for! Wash sees North for the first time in a year and a half, and various other things happen. You'll see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent way too much time on pretendyoure.xyz/zy/ trying to get people to play with the RvB Cardcast deck. Too much time. But if YOU want to play, hmu in the comments or something?
> 
> -  
> Reminder that this is unbetaed and mostly unproofread so if you spot any mistakes, don't hesitate to tell me!
> 
> I love comments, they make me so so happy! And kudos too.

Wash stood on the stage, bathed in bright lights, playing his heart out. The faces in the crowd were still hard to make out, entranced by Wash's music. North sat in stunned silence, his hand gripping tightly to York's, both their  faces a mixture of nostalgia, regret and infinite adoration. He stole a glance at Carolina, her acid green eyes glued to the figure on the stage. He could see fondness in her gaze. He thought the implication of a smile was making its way across her face but he could have been mistaken.

Wash finished his piece and took a bow, his hands shaking slightly as he put on a smile for the crowd erupting with applause. He caught Tucker's eye as he walked off the stage and could see him giving to enthusiastic thumbs up and smiling a million watt smile. Then his gaze was drawn to a familiar shape.

Taller than the rest, pale blonde hair and- It couldn't be. There was no way. He shook himself back to reality and pushed the thought away. There was no way his stunningly handsome ex-boyfriend was in the audience... Right? Wash was the last performer, meaning as soon as he was gone everyone bolted from their seats to try and talk to their favorite performers. Simmons wasn't an exception and took off towards the side door, waiting patiently for the stream of performers to pour out, all carrying their respective instruments.

Grif came out last, even behind the two other cellists. He was hoisting his case higher up on his back and chatting with Wash who had a pained- no, it was more  worried- expression on his face.  "No,I'm telling you, you were great. No one noticed how shaky you were. Well, aside from me, but I'm just really perceptive." Grif was saying and Wash didn't look very convinced. "I know I did fine. It's just- I think I saw- My ex-boyfriend." Grif raised an eyebrow. Simmons took this as an opportunity to get in on the conversation. "Wait, what?"

Wash waved his hand about. "I know it's stupid, but I'd recognize his face anywhere. I know I saw York, I know I saw Carolina sitting next to him. And I saw Tucker in the back, he's got the cutest smile. I-" Wash stopped, his eyes going wide, focusing on something just beyond Simmons' left shoulder. "I gotta go." He mumbled, following whatever he was looking at and Grif shrugged his shoulders impassively. "Whatever. Weirdo."

Simmons gave Grif a smile. "I liked your piece. It was... How do I put it?" He tapped his chin. "Ah, breathtaking." Grif looked astounded. "Really? I took your breath away?" "Don't make it sound so unrealistic. You were fantastic. You had such a fluidity to your movements, you made it look so effortless yet emotional and I'm not ashamed to say I may have cried a bit..." Grif almost laughed, but he caught himself. "Okay, now I'm a bit ashamed to say it." Simmons huffed, crossing his arms. "I cry easily. Don't consider yourself special." Grif smiled. "No, I'm going to consider myself special. I'm glad you liked it that much."

Simmons returned his smile, only slightly tense. His stomach made a noise and he inadvertently made a shushing noise. His face went red. "Sorry. I haven't eaten yet." Grif clapped him on the shoulder. "Well, we can't have that. What do you say we get out of here and get some food? I don't want to stand around talking to these people anyway," Grif mumbled, his hand dragging down Simmons' arm and taking his hand to lead him through the crowd and outside into the crisp biting air.

* * *

 

Wash pushed his way through the huge double doors and out into the theatre lobby. He looked around for his friends, catching a glimpse of Carolina's red hair way back in the corner against a wall and... There he was. Peeking above the nameless heads he saw soft blonde hair, a strong-bridged nose, a pair of caring blue eyes that glittered in the light and the smile that had made him melt time after time.

_North._

Wash shoved past the shoulders in his way and surged forward, disregarding the attempts to start a conversation.

_North._

He stepped around the last person in his way and came face-to-face with years of memories. Years of regret. Years of love.

"North."

North turned his head, a wave of happiness and relief washing over his face as he reached up his hands, offering a hug. A hug that Wash wanted so badly. A hug that used to be accompanied by a reassuring smile and a hand carding through his hair. A hug that used to be followed by a kiss. A hug that wasn't followed by a kiss this time.

Wash buried himself in North's shoulder, too tired to be mad. Too tired to speak. He let himself stay like that for a minute, waiting in vain for the hand to begin carding through his hair. It didn't. "David! It's so good to see you. You were amazing! And you- you bleached your hair?" There it was. The low voice Wash had missed so much, it's slightly nasally undertone and the way it seemed so loud even though it was only a whisper.

He savored every moment of it, remembering all the times North had called him by his name. Not the name he had chosen. The name he had been given. He loved it.

"Yeah, I did. I was trying for a new look... North, I missed you. I missed y- I'm so sorry." Wash choked out. He didn't care if anyone was watching. It was probably just Carolina and York anyway. Oh. He hadn't said hello to York yet. "Sorry for what, David? What do you think you could have possibly done that would make me mad?" North asked, pushing away slowly to hold Wash at arms length. Wash struggled to pass him wiping his tears off as something else. He probably looked pathetic, crying in the middle of a theatre lobby.

"Sorry for- for leaving. And not ever contacting you! Never taking the time to call and tell you that I hope you're okay and that you forgive me and I never meant to hurt you and that-" North stopped him suddenly. He placed a hand gently over Wash's mouth and gave him a look. "No."

"No. Don't say you're sorry. Don't say you're sorry for ending a relationship that wasn't going to work for you." North said, removing his hand once he was convinced Wash wouldn't try to start talking again. "Do you remember what I always told you? Take care of yourself. It's okay to put yourself first. And that's what you did, David." North pushed a lock of hair out of Wash's face.

"You did what was best for you. That's what's important. And besides..." He smiled softly and reached behind Wash, tapping York on the shoulder and motioning him closer. "I wasn't alone for long." York turned around, prompted by North's touch and sidled up next to him, reaching a hand around North's waist. "What's up?" He asked, his voice thick with sleepiness and maybe some booze. Wash stood frozen to the spot. He tried to force his face into a neutral expression, tried to wipe off the almost horrified expression that was taking hold.

York. It was York. His friend. North's friend. They were all friends, they all liked each other. They didn't make each other feel jealous and they certainly didn't make each other feel like punching a wall.

They were friends.

Wash plastered a clearly fake smile onto his face and greeted York with stunted speech. "Goo-good to see you again after all this time, York." He gave York a tense hug and flicked his eyes over the pair. So happy together. Like he and North had been before Wash decided to throw away the best thing that had ever happened to him in favor of what he thought was the best thing. Music. Wash broke himself off from the conversation once York had stood up on his tiptoes to give North a kiss on the cheek. He didn't need to subject himself to any of it. So he went to hide in the bathroom.

Apparently , hiding meant locking himself in a stall and groaning as quietly as he could to himself. He couldn't get that image out of his head. York, not bothering to hide his pleasure as he illicited a blush from North who complained about being in public. North, with his hands around York's waist and- Wash didn't have a problem with admitting to himself that he was jealous. Because it was true. He was jealous of North and York. They were happy. They had worked out their feelings in his absence and he hadn't. Wash ran his hands distractedly through his hair and forced himself to say it out loud. Sometimes, things just aren't true until you say them.

"I'm jealous of them."

"What?"

Wash jumped at the sound of another person's voice. He stood, frozen and tried to compose himself. So there was someone else in the bathroom.  No big deal. That voice definitely wasn't North or York, so he was probably fine. To be fair, it was kind of stupid on his part to just randomly start blurting things out. He waited a fair amount of time before clearing his throat and exiting the stall.

He opened the door and saw Donuts's fairly concerned face staring at him. "Wash... Did you say-" Wash didn't let him finish. He was too busy gazing at the soft purple fabric draped around Donuts's body. "Whoa." He furrowed his brow. "You look amazing." That comment certainly took Donuts's mind off Wash's earlier confession.

"Oh, why thank you! I won't tell you how long it took to find something that matched Doc's suit but-" He smiled warmly. "Thanks." Donuts's eyes wandered over Wash, a frown forming after a couple seconds. "Gray, huh?" He said, disappointment in his underlying tone. Wash looked defensive. "It is honestly the only suit I own, Donut. And you said gray looked good on me." He crossed his arms in defiance.

Donut waved his hand dismissively. "True, but never mind that, mister. Who are you jealous of?" Shit. Wash kept his arms crossed, covering his chest like some kind of emotional shield. "Was kind of hoping you would have forgotten about that..." he mumbled, not making eye contact. "I only forget things when they're not important, Wash," Donut said is if he were simply stating that the sky was blue.

"I think you hiding in a bathroom stall and suddenly admitting you're jealous of someone is pretty. Fucking. Important." Donut crossed his own arms now. He did so in a more challenging way, as if saying 'you'd better talk or I will take drastic measures'.

"I don't have to- nor do I _want_ to tell you. It's my own problem and trust me, I'm trying to take your advice and work myself out. But I have to do that on my own." Wash felt kind of bad for just pushing Donut away, but he really didn't want to have that conversation. He sidestepped Donut and slipped out of the bathroom and straight into North's solid yet inviting chest.

"Oh! David! I was just looking for you. C'mere, I gotta show you something." He smiled in a warm and inviting way and grabbed Wash's hand carefully, leading him through the crowd until they were sitting on a bench against the wall, close enough to everyone so he could see them, but far enough away as to not be able to overhear. "I know we haven't talked- at all- for the past year. And I'm sorry. But I'm going to make up for that. I'm going to sit here and tell you everything that important that has happened in my life. I might skip some of the... details, of course." He gave York a sidelong glance from across the room and yep, Wash wasn't going to touch that.

* * *

 

"Okay." Wash couldn't bring himself to say more. "York and I are together, that much is obvious. It was about a month after you left. To be honest, I was feeling depressed. But he helped a lot. I started feeling better, a lot better and about six months later... Well-" North took out his phone and opened up the camera roll. There were way too many pictures of York, and Wash wondered if he would have that many pictures of Tucker if- holy shit. Not the time. He shoved that thought away to process later. At home. After.

North leaned over and showed Wash a particularly adorable video of himself, taken by York, in front of a Christmas tree with two small kids hanging off his arms. He looked mildly strained, struggling to hold up two sixty pound children with with his biceps. His huge, magnificent biceps. What caught him off guard was the smile North wore. Unending love and sweetness poured forth from his beaming face. The kids looked ecstatic too, their smiles brighter than the twinkling lights behind them on the tree.

One, hanging off North's left arm, was giggling uncontrollably and he was trying to keep his grip on North's arm. "Aah! I'm slipping, Dad help!" The other kid shouted. The smile never left his face though, even as York lunged forward, losing his grip on the phone and catching the child before he fell to the ground. The video ended with the phone abandoned on the ground and four distinct voices full of laughter. Wash definitely _wasn't_  on the verge of tears. Neither was North.

"That's my son." North pointed to the child on his left arm. He had curly brown hair which reminded Wash of Caboose and one of his front teeth was missing. North sighed. "Theta. He's the light of my life. And that-" North pointed to the other kid. "That's York's boy, Delta. He can be pretty serious sometimes, always going on about the most logical actions. I swear he may as well be a sixty year old man stuck in the body of a seven year old." North shook his head affectionately.

"You ad-" Wash cleared his throat. "You adopted kids? Together?" North nodded slowly, his eyes sweeping over Wash's face. Wash closed his eyes and took a breath. "They're fucking adorable." He breathed, his voice coming out quieter than he wanted. North put his arm around Wash's shoulder. He hadn't felt this so long. "Yeah, they sure are." He sighed happily and scrolled through his camera roll, commenting occasionally on why York had whipped cream in his hair in that picture (North helped Delta prank him while he was sleeping) and how that picture of the sunrise was so much better in person.

Wash leaned into North's embrace. "I really missed you." He mumbled. North turned off his phone and glanced down at Wash. He turned and rested his chin on Wash's head.  "I missed you too. A lot. I found myself thinking 'wow, David would have loved this'. I once saw a little gray cat on my morning run and I am not kidding, it looked it just like you. It was so tiny, and I thought of how much you would have wanted to take it home and-" North masked his sadness with a hollow laugh.

Wash didn't like that laugh.

"I still don't have a cat." Wash picked at a piece of lint on his pant leg. "I've had so much going on recently. Not as romantic as adopting kids with my boyfriend but I have new friends, you've probably met some of them. Right?" North cocked his head. "I dunno." He mused. "Tell me about them."

"Okay, so there's Donut. That's not his first name, I assure you. He's wearing a purple dress. You might have seen him around with this other guy who we call Doc. Also not his real name. I've heard Donut call him Frankie, but that's his pet name so maybe just call him Doc." Wash took a breath and chanced a look at North who had his head resting on his hand, a placid smile draped across his face. "Go on."

"And Grif! Where do I start with him? He's got more layers than a goddam onion, I swear. He was playing cello before me. I'd describe him as a prodigy, if I'm being honest. These days you'll probably see him with Simmons. Those two are inseparable, it's frankly quite cute. Simmons has a prosthetic arm which he is very sensitive about. And Caboose, he's a visual artist. I think you two'd get along well. He's really tall too, and is always hanging around with Church, who will probably deny this but he's Caboose's best friend."

Wash looked so happy talking about his friends. "Kimball, she was with Carolina when they went to see York. I don't know if you've met her yet."

North nodded. "I have. I was there with York."

Wash turned to North, an incredulous look ingrained on his face. "You wha- Okay no." Wash took a deep breath and shook his head quickly. "No. It doesn't matter. Of course you were." He pushed back his hair and began again. "Where was I! Oh, Kimball. So you've met her. Who else? Sarge!"

Wash snapped his fingers and North almost lost it. "Let me guess, it isn't his real name?" North raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk at the corners of his mouth. Wash tried not to look at his mouth. "I actually don't know. We just call him that. Come to think of it, I haven't seen much of him recently." Wash tapped his chin. "Weird. I guess he just likes to be alone."

Wash stopped talking suddenly, his gaze wandering to the group across the room. His friends. Donut and Doc were there, and Kimball was there, her arm around Carolina's waist, hand just a little too far south to be strictly platonic. And there was Sarge, talking at Church who was clearly not liking it. Wash nudged North's shoulder. "Speak of the devil. There's Sarge if you want to meet him."

Wash pointed to him but North's eyes didn't follow. Instead, he made himself more comfortable and shrugged. "We have all evening. I'd rather just talk with you." His eyes wandered to the table against the opposite wall, stocked with bottles of mildly expensive wine. "What do you say we get a drink?" North nudged Wash's arm playfully. Wash shrugged. "Sure, why not?"

They got up and walked across the room, North linking their arms somewhere along the way. Wash stared at the selection of wine and chose one at random, a red wine with a cool label. The logo was three lines angled in the middle to form a sort of triangle shape. North poured them both a glass and made a toast. "To you, David, the best violinist I've ever had the pleasure of hearing. You played wonderfully tonight." Wash blushed. "Thanks." He took a sip of his wine, noting it tasted a bit like blood. A kind of irony undertone.

"Do you remember that day?" North asked, staring Wash straight in the eyes.

"When do you mean?" Wash replied, tilting his head to the side. That was a lie. He knew exactly when North meant. The day he-

"The day you broke up with me. You still had that huge bandage on your chin." North mused. "So glad I didn't leave a mark." He mumbled.

Wash coughed abruptly and reached for a napkin. There was wine dribbling down his chin. "Sorry. I inhaled-" He coughed again and wiped off his face. The napkin came off stained pink with wine and... Oh hell. Wash had forgotten about his concealer. So much for-

 _"DAVID?!"_ North had his hands on either side of his head, a look of shock and disbelief on his face. Half the gathered crowd turned to look at them. Wash glanced down at the soiled napkin again.

"Son of a bitch," he mumbled, feeling his chin and running his fingers over the familiar scar, now exposed.

"What the- you told me it didn't leave a scar!" North whispered as loudly as he could. Wash didn't try to hide the obviously pained expression on his face. He brought a hand up and covered his mouth. "I'm sorry, I just- I didn't want you to be upset! I knew you would. I knew you would get worked up about this but trust me," He abandoned his glass on the table and took North's hands, looking up at him with pleading eyes, "It's not a big deal. It's tiny."

North let out a shaky breath. "I left a scar on you."

"North, I swear to god. It's. Fine. I like it, even. It reminds me of you. In a good way." Wash let go of North's hands and smiled at him.

North let out an exasperated sigh. "I knew that was a stupid idea."

Wash snorted. "Hey, it's on me for springing something like that on you out of nowhere. The least I could have done was let you know beforehand." He picked up his wine again and took another sip. Ew. He set it down again and stuck his tongue out in disgust. He didn't even like wine. Wash was more of a hard liquor kind of guy, like York.

He should probably talk to him. Wash looked around for York, trying to spot his charming smile or his brown hair sticking up above the crowd. Instead he saw Tucker shouldering past unsuspecting people and making a beeline for him. Tucker looked confused, angry and terrified all at the same time.

"Why is there yelling? Who the fuck is David and-" He did a double take and danced up at North, who only gave him an eyebrow raise. "Can you people get any taller?" Tucker threw up his hands in defeat.

Wash let a breathy laugh escape his lips. "Don't worry Tucker. As flattered as I am that you care so much, it's fine. This is my friend North. And I'm..." He gestured briefly to himself. "I'm David. It's my real name." Tucker studied Wash more closely, his lips parted ever so slightly. "Damn, that's like- the hottest name I've ever heard."

He seemed to have forgotten North was there. Tucker stepped close enough to Wash that he could lower his voice. "I suppose I should tell you my real name in return, eh?" He raised his eyebrows expectantly. Wash shifted his weight and flicked his eyes up at North for a split second. "Okay?"

Tucker didn't miss a beat. "Lavernius." Wash felt a grin spreading across his face.

"Wow. Your parents went all out." He giggled. "But seriously, a beautiful name for a beautiful person."

North excused himself from the vicinity, mumbling something about York being a crybaby and Wash didn't even notice he left. "Lavernius Tucker." He said the name over and over, letting it roll off his tongue as easily as if it was his own. Tucker had gotten closer, sporting a matching grin.

"You like it that much? Maybe I should make you sc-" Wait. Shit. He should tone it down a notch. If his last girlfriend was any indication, not everyone appreciated his jokes. Tucker left the sentence cut short and filled the silence with an awkward noise. Something between a cough and a squeal.

He stepped gingerly around a stunned Wash and got himself a glass of wine. He immediately spit it back into the glass. "Ew. That tastes like blood." He mumbled. Wash shook himself out of his stupor- what was he going to say?- and turned around to meet Tucker's gaze. "I know, right? I hate the taste of blood."

Tucker nodded in response and set his glass next to Wash's. "So, David, may I call you David? What was all the screaming about?" He asked. His head was tilted just so, in a way that let the light bounce off his skin and it seemed like he was glowing.

"Glowing..." Wash mumbled. It was barely audible.

Tucker raised an eyebrow.

"Oh- well, I'd prefer it you called me Wash. Everyone else does and it just avoids confusion..." He shrugged, pretending not to notice the way Tucker's shoulders slumped and the light left his eyes.

"Oh, okay."

That was all he said. "And as I said, the shouting was nothing. I just surprised North, is all. I covered up my scar for tonight and it kind of- well, it's not concealed anymore and North freaked out about it even though he's dating a guy with a massive scar down his face- not to mention he's blind in one eye- and I don't see what the big deal is because I like it." Wash crossed his arms and pouted just the tiniest bit.

"He's just mad because he's the one who did it." Wash looked over at where North was having what he hoped was a civil conversation with Sarge. Caboose was watching them in relative silence and was trying to see who was taller. Wash avoided Tucker's obviously curious gaze. Maybe he had said too much. Now Tucker wouldn't leave him alone until he spilled all the details.

"I haven't seen you all evening. Where have you been?" Wash asked, hoping to change the subject. Tucker drew a breath and sighed.

"All over the place. Sorry I couldn't come by earlier and congratulate you on what a kick ass job you did. My mom called and I had to remind her that I wasn't a complete failure, Carolina came and asked me for advice, which is weird enough in itself. Plus- and I can't stress this enough- someone recognized me... And said they needed a clarinetist to perform for their soundtrack! I think it was a bullshit indie movie but I don't care, the pay is great." Tucker calmed down a bit and Wash regained his voice.

"No no, it's fine. If you had that much going on, I don't blame you for not finding me immediately. Congratulations on the job," He gave Tucker a genuine smile. "Lavernius."

"You said Carolina asked you for advice? What could she possibly have needed advice on?" Wash picked his wine glass back up and continued to drink it, despite its horrible taste. Tucker blushed.

" _Weeeeelll_... You see, as far as she knows, I'm the only person in our group who's dated a girl and is safe to talk to about it. Sarge goes into detail WAY too much, Church is... Well, Church and Kimball- Kimball was the subject. She basically accosted me and demanded I tell her how to pick up chicks. One specific chick, in this case."

Wash made a noise. "So she finally decided to make her move? What, I've seen the way she looks at Kimball!" It seemed to Wash that all the girls he knew had much less trouble figuring out their feelings.

Tucker continued at full-speed. "I know, right? So obvious. So I tell her, yeah, I'm great at picking up chicks but I usually haven't met them before and it's different if you're already friends. In my experience... It's a lot harder to confess when the person you're confessing to is a friend. It could ruin your friendship beyond repair." Tucker glanced up at Wash and gave him his most meaningful stare.

"And Carolina said that she was pretty sure Kimball liked her back considering she was practically feeling her up earlier. I told her who wouldn't want to feel that up, and she almost punched me. Turns out I'm not good at giving compliments without sounding like an ass." Tucker grimaced as if he expected Wash to lash out at him.

"I'm sure you can give compliments just fine. I mean, no one has ever said that my name was hot. Come on, just try." Wash gestured between them. "Compliment me." Tucker knew that chances of him saying something he'd regret were very high, but he couldn't resist the look Wash was giving him. So he took a breath and complimented David Washington.

"You have really pretty eyes. Like, I've never met someone with prettier hazel eyes. And I've met a lot of people with hazel eyes." He lifted his eyes up to Wash's and saw his smile get bigger.

"And you're really rocking the blonde look. Did I mention I'm into blondes?" Tucker flinched. "Oops. There I go again."

Wash waved him off. "Try again," He said, his smile not faltering. Wow, Wash must not get many compliments.

"And your freckles are the cutest thing I've ever seen in my life. You've got a great smile too, you outshine the fucking sun," Tucker said. Huh. Pretty smooth. It might be bordering on cliché romantic poetry but if it kept the smile Wash's face then it was worth it.

* * *

 

"Church. Church. Church." Caboose nudged Church in the elbow and tried to get his attention. Church let out a sigh that sounded more like a groan and turned to face Caboose.

"What."

"Who's taller?" Caboose stage-whispered, pointing to North who was facing away and talking to York and Carolina. Church squinted. "Uh... I dunno Caboose. I can't tell. Why don't you ask him how tall he is?" Caboose's eyes lit up and he gasped. "Why didn't I think of that? Ah, Church, you're just the best friend ever." He smiled with joy and turned to get North's attention.

"Um, excuse me? Do you ah, do you know how tall you are?" Caboose tapped North on the shoulder and got him to swivel around. Carolina and York watched in silence. "Wh- oh! You must be Caboose! David's told me a lot about you! Well, he told me you're tall. And you're a visual artist." North smiled warmly at Caboose and flicked his eyes over Church for a second. Church was glaring up at North as if to silently say 'If you make him cry I'll make you pay'.

North gave him an equally warm smile. Caboose cocked his head to the side and a pensive look fell over his face. "Who's David?" he mused. North's mouth opened slightly with realization. "Oh. I forgot. You call him Wash."

Cabooses face got brighter instantly. "Oh! Wash told you about me? What did he say? Did he tell you about Freckles? Does he know about freckles? Church Church! I didn't tell Wash about Freckles!"

Caboose abandoned his train of thought and went to grab Church by the shoulders. He shook him almost gently. "I forgot to tell Wash about freckles! Do you think he'll be mad? What if he loves dogs too and he gets mad because I didn't tell him and he didn't get to pet Freckles sooner and-"

Church brought his foot down hard on the ground. "Michael!" His shout stilled everyone. Carolina, York, North, even a few people around them. Church cleared his throat.

"If you keep worrying like that, you're going to give yourself a fucking panic attack! And more shit than I want to be dealing with, okay? It's fine. I'm pretty sure Wash is a cat person, right?" He looked up at North for confirmation. North nodded. "See? It'll be okay. Now calm down. Take a _deeeep_  breath and ask North your question again."

Church nodded over at North, who was starting to look a bit concerned. Caboose did as Church said and slowed his breathing. Then, like a switch had been flipped, he was back to his old self. "Yes! How tall are you?" he asked in a delightful tone.

North just seemed relieved that Caboose wasn't about to break down in front of him. "I'm 198 centimeters." Caboose blinked at him.

"Oh, right. Six feet six inches." He corrected himself. Caboose grinned like it was Christmas. "Oh my gosh! We're the same height! Church! Look! He's as tall as me!" Caboose bounced happily as he stood next to North for comparison.

North chuckled. "Well, I'm glad you're happy. I almost never see anyone my height." Caboose nodded vigorously. "I think we're going to be good friends." He glanced at Church. "Not best friends, though, that spot is only for Church." Church tried to pretend he wasn't incredibly touched by that sentiment. He settled for vaguely grumbling.

North didn't mind it when Caboose decided to stand next to him for the rest of his conversation with York and Carolina. He didn't mind it when Carolina beckoned Sarge over and introduced him. He didn't mind it when Donut started fussing over skincare products. He didn't mind. And he was starting to realize why Wash was so fond of these people. They may bicker occasionally but it was because they cared.

North caught himself searching the crowd for Wash's bleached blonde hair, a glimpse of those freckles. He furrowed his brow. Where was he?

"- and I can't find Grif or Simmons _anywhere!_ I really wanted you to meet them, North. They're really friendly once you get to know them. Grif's got this 'I don't care about anything' facade and Simmons is always nervous but they're such fun to have around! North? Are you listening?"

Donut stood on his tiptoes and waved a hand in front of North's face, bringing him back to reality. "I'm sorry, what?" He smiled sheepishly. Donut put his hands on his hips.

"Well, I was just saying that it's a shame you haven't met Grif or Simmons yet. Come to think of it..." Donuts's eyes went wide, almost with horror." You haven't met Tucker either! He's short, big brown eyes, kinda sassy!"

North started. "I think I have met him, actually. He seemed pretty... Protective. Said his first name was Lavernius? Well, more like he said it to David and I overheard."

Donut made a cooing noise and he nudged Doc with his elbow.

"See, I knew he'd do it eventually." He whispered. Somehow, his tone was almost conspiratorial.

Doc, who North had come to realize stayed mostly to the sidelines and considered himself a neutral force, scoffed.

"I thought we were matchmaking Grif and Simmons. Since when has Tucker and Wash been a thing?" Donut made a dismissive noise. "Since Wash told me he thought Tucker was cute." Doc looked skeptical.

"Okay, so he didn't say those exact words... He didn't say his name either but that's besides the point. You reminded me what I was going to do." Donut whipped out his phone and began enthusiastically tapping away. A few moments later, he got a crisp ping indicating a text message.

"I found out where those two went. Grif says they're downtown for dinner." Donut held up his phone to Doc triumphantly. Grif had, of course, included a picture of his food. Doc's stomach grumbled.

"That looks insane. I want some." He gave Donut a pleading look. "Let's go there." He said, his voice demanding. Donut gave a little whine. "I don't know. I wouldn't want to intrude upon their maybe-probably-definitly-date."Donuts's voice pitched up.

Doc frowned. "We could call it a double-date?" He offered, not hesitating.

Donut fought down a full on squeal. "Oh, yes! that's genius! Let get going or Grif will have eaten already." He grabbed Doc's hand and resisted the urge to bolt out the door.

They gave the group a hasty goodbye and left Church and Caboose talking with North, York, Carolina and Sarge caught up in their own conversation and Tucker and Wash nowhere to be seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... Another cliffhanger. Yep. Hate me if you want, it'll only make me stronger. Next chapter we'll see more of Docnut/Grimmons as well as a whole fuckton of words dedicated to Carolina and her insane ability to figure out what she wants when she wants.
> 
> And yes, North did just use metric as his default unit of measurement. My headcanon is he's Canadian, or maybe Scandinavian (I mean, he's tall and blonde, c'mon now).
> 
> Oh, and the logo for that god awful blood wine is supposed to be the Project Freelancer logo. Because that's what I imagine the Director drinking. Shitty blood wine... Yep.


	10. And brace yourself for impact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donut and Doc go on a double-date and Grif does a thing. Lina talks to Kimball, Wash spills some beans and has some 'enlightening' thoughts.
> 
> Yeh yeh, I'm not dead!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You DO NOT KNOW HOW LONG IT TOOK ME TO THINK OF THE WORD 'IMMACULATE'.
> 
> I'm so sorry this took so feckin' long. I have been really sick lately and I struggle to get through each day, let alone write several thousand words. Anyway, the next chapter SHOULD be up by next week, and hoooo boy, it's a goodie.

Donut stopped the car and practically shoved Doc out the passenger side.

"Go go go!" He urged, a smile on his face. Doc managed to avoid falling on his face and regained his balance. "Okay, calm down." He walked to the door of the restaurant and held the door open for Donut. He earned a wink and a curtsey. "So gentlemanly."

Doc rolled his eyes. "It's common courtesy, Donut." He tried.

Donut didn't buy it. "In this case, it's something nice you do for your date." He tapped Doc on the nose and swiftly walked past him. Doc blushed and followed him into the dimly lit restaurant.

"Ah hell. Are we really doing this now?" Grif exclaimed when he noticed the unmistakable bounce of Donut's walk and the bright blonde undercut. Donut nodded. "What better time to have a double-date?" Grif started to object, but Simmons beat him to it.

"This isn't a date. But you're welcome to join us." Grif kicked his foot under table. "Come on, dude," He hissed. Simmons shrugged his shoulders. Donut took a seat across from Grif and next to Doc in the booth. Simmons looked a little bit less that enthusiastic to be sitting next to Grif and across from Doc. He was socially and physically trapped. Fuck. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

"So Grif, I noticed you still have food left. How is that possible?" Donut giggled. Grif scoffed. "I'll have you know this is my second plate... Of four." Doc widened his eyes. "Is that-" Grif cut him off. "There's so much good food here, I can't be expected to choose _just one_. Right Simmons?" Simmons nodded stiffly.

"I suppose, as long as you're paying. You are paying, right?" He raised an eyebrow. Grif reassured him by resting his hand on Simmons' thigh. "Yes, I am. For _our_  food. Those two are on their own." He jabbed accusatory fingers at Donut and Doc.

Simmons tensed under Grif's touch. He didn't say a word, however. Doc leaned over and tried to keep his voice down. "So, what exactly was your plan?" Donut smirked knowingly. "Observation, my dear Frankie. That's always the first step." Doc sighed dramatically. "Alright. As long as you don't make them uncomfortable. I wouldn't want to have to stop another verbal attack from Grif."

Donut grumbled quietly, but didn't say anything more. Simmons continued to pick at his food while Grif started on his third plate and Donut ordered for himself and Doc. Donut didn't drop his grin as they all waited in silence. Donut and Doc got their food. Simmons reached over and stole a bite from Grif's plate when he wasn't looking. Doc suppressed a snicker at the sight and made sure Grif hadn't noticed. "Grif, your food is delicious," Simmons announced. Grif took his hand away from Simmons' leg, which he hadn't noticed was still there, and gasped.

"You little bitch! Did you steal my food?" He hissed. Simmons tried to hide his smile but ended up outright laughing. "Hey, it's fine, you can have some of mine. I just wanted to see if you'd notice." Grif made a show of leaning over and taking the largest bite possible of Simmons' dinner. Donut was practically bursting with joy at this. Doc continued to eat and tried not to interfere when Donut suggested dessert. His tone implied ulterior motives, but neither Grif nor Simmons seemed to notice.  Simmons perked up.

"That sounds good, actually. Grif, you've been here before, what do you recommend?" Grif was finishing off his last plate and leaned back. "Well, if you want my honest opinion, get the Chocolate Death. It's a molten cake with _seven_  different kinds of chocolate." Simmons looked like he was going to faint. "Seriously?"

"Seriously."

Simmons immediately started looking around for the waiter. "I have to have that," He mumbled. "I love chocolate." Grif chuckled. "Okay, calm down." With a smile on his face, he snapped his fingers to get the attention of the passing waiter. "Two Chocolate Deaths, please." The waiter nodded and walked off.

Simmons spent the next few minutes surreptitiously sliding closer to Grif, until their shoulders bumped every time Grif moved. It was nice. Simmons wasn't usually a fan of close-quarters, but Grif's comfortable warmth and absent-minded humming almost lulled Simmons to sleep. Donut wasn't oblivious to Simmons' actions. He watched them like a hawk, taking in a suspenseful breath when it seemed like Simmons was about to fall asleep on Grif's shoulder.

"Screw observation, I'm taking drastic measures," he mumbled. Doc had other plans. He grabbed Donut around the waist had held him in place. "Nope. No drastic measures. I'd like to keep these friendships, Donut." Donut sighed and went back to just staring instead. Donut's entranced gaze didn't go unnoticed by Grif. "The hell are you looking at?" He mumbled.

Donut hurriedly shook his head and went to whisper something in Doc's ear. Grif wasn't the best at reading lips, but he could make out 'I'm going to faint-' and '-Grif does something cute'. He put two and two together and decided to make Donut faint. Not to mention, he wanted to see what kind of reaction he could get out of Simmons. That in itself was more than enough motivation. As if on cue, the waiter came back with their cakes. Grif eyed Simmons as he bit into the cake, almost choking on it after trying to gasp with it in his mouth. "Holy shit-" He managed to say. Grif grinned.

"I told you so. It's amazing." Grif playfully nudged Simmons in the arm and maybe-on-purpose jolted the spoonful of cake off-course and it ended up hitting him in the nose, resulting in a surprised noise from Simmons, a not at all subtle squeal from Donut and a more subtle mischievous glance from Grif. "Oops. You got a little chocolate on your nose."

Grif flicked his eyes over to Donut and gave him his best 'you made me do this' stare. Grif leaned over, and instead of wiping off the spill with a napkin, proceeded to _lick it off Simmons' nose_ , all while maintaining constant eye contact with Donut. Simmons, being trapped in the booth, could only lean farther away and make strangled protests with the knowledge that his face was warming up like a cheap toaster oven. It was a little too warm, a little too slobbery but it was so... Grif.

Simmons' voice stopped working completely when Grif thought it would be appropriate to _bite him_. Simmons would never in a million years admit it, but he kind of- okay, he really liked it. He was very sensitive.  Grif must have noticed his reaction. He backed away a fraction of an inch and mumbled "Wouldn't want to waste food" before the grin returned to his face and he sat up straight, appearantly satisfied with the results.

Donut was trying to push Doc out of the booth and Simmons had officially short-circuited.

All in a day's work.

* * *

 

Donut didn't seem worried about leaving food behind ("Grif'll eat it, I'm sure"). He let Doc pay quickly and they left in relative silence, but not before Donut gave Grif an extremely overt wink and a thumbs-up. Grif chose to ignore whatever Donut thought it implied and hastily said goodbye. Donut was short of breath when they got back in the car and he let Doc drive them home.

"You saw that, right? That wasn't my imagination? It's got to be true now, Grif's messing with me. He knows exactly how to push my buttons. And now he's simultaneously doing my job for me and somehow making _me_  weak in the knees too! Simply diabolical." Donut caught himself. "Oh no, I sound like Sarge," He muttered.

Doc looked utterly confused. "And what, may I ask, is 'your job?'" Donut stared him straight in the eyes. "Matchmaking, of course. What else?" Doc couldn't help but smirk. "I suppose you hold yourself responsible for the outcomes of our friend's relationships then?" Doc asked, his eyebrow so high up his forehead it was lacking oxygen. "Yes. I see the potential, and I mold it from soft, tender beginnings to something hard." Donut was looking wistfully out the window, engrossed in his own world. "Does that include our relationship, Donut?" Donut faltered, his far-off smile dropping for a split second.

"W-yes, I suppose," He said weakly. Doc tightened his grip on the steering wheel imperceptibly. "What _are_  we, Donut?" His voice came out more forcefully then he had intended. Doc wasn't angry. He just didn't like the uncertainty. It made things simpler for him if he could label his and Donut's feelings and tell at a glance what they meant to each other.

"What are we? Well, whatever you want us to be. But _you_  were the one who kissed me on my birthday, and _you_  were the one who turned my legs to jelly this evening with how gorgeous you look, and _you_  were the one was the silent voice of reason when I wanted to go overboard with Grif and Simmons." Donut didn't give Doc enough time to interject before he continued. "So you tell me, Frankie. What do you want us to be?"

He didn't turn to look at Doc, instead reaching over and placing his hand over Doc's on the steering wheel. "Because I will be part of whatever you want me to." Doc was shaking now. Not out of fear, of nervousness. Just the overwhelming feeling of warmth.

"That was the most romantic thing you've ever said to me-" Doc's voice caught. "Please do that all the time." He slowed the car at a red light and turned to look at Donut.

"Franklin Delano Donut, I want you to be my boyfriend." He knew Donut hated being called by his first name, but he couldn't be the only one being romantic. Full names were romantic. Donut's face broke into a huge smile. "You know I will, Frankie." He managed to lean over and give Doc a quick peck on the cheek before the light turned green and Doc turned his attention back to the road.

Once the pair got back to their apartment, Donut all but dragged Doc onto the couch (the insanely comfortable couch) and pulled him into a tight embrace. "Donut," whispered Doc. "I have to change." He tried to pry himself out of Donut's arms and away from the threat of kisses. Donut silently protested. Okay then, drastic measures. "Your dress is going to get wrinkled." That got Donut's attention. So much so that he sprang up from the couch with a gasp.

"Well fine, if you want to play that way. I'm going to get changed." Donut stopped. "And then I'm making popcorn." Doc almost protested. "And then were going to watch a movie, and it's going to make up for that failure of a double-date I just took you on." Donut nodded firmly, left no room for argument and flounced up the stairs to change. Doc sighed, a goofy grin on his face. "I wouldn't exactly call it a failure, Donut," he called up the stairs. He got a soft, lilting laugh as a reply and hauled himself up off the couch to change too.

* * *

 

"It's ridiculous. Every word. I won't believe it for a moment!" Sarge was positively fuming with frustration. His hand, shaking as much as it was, still held his glass of wine carefully. He was shaking his head with so much disapproval that York was afraid he break his neck.

"But it's true. Carolina'll vouch for me, right?" He glanced over at Carolina who was backing away slowly with wide eyes. She mouthed an apology and slipped through the crowd with Kimball in tow. Asshole.

"Nope. It can't be true. You expect me to believe that you got that fancy scar of yours from an _exploding microwave_? Not a chance. It would be more believable if you told me you got it in the heat of a bloody battle on an alien planet!" Sarge furrowed his thick bushy brows to prove his point. It worked.

York looked around him to see if there was anyone who could back him up. North was having a light-hearted conversation with another giant, Caboose, and Carolina had bailed with her girlfriend. Wash was nowhere to be seen and the chubby girl standing next to him... Well, he had never seen her before, but she and Sarge were at least acquaintances.

"Okay, I don't know why it's so hard to believe. I was being stupid with a bunch of friends in college and they thought they'd see what happened when they put a bunch of metal object in the microwave." He glanced over at the girl who was giving him an incredulous look. "Wow, okay. Even I'm not that dumb. I kinda though you were like, the smart type," She piped, sounding a bit like every single sorority girl he'd ever met. York lifted a finger to interject. "For the record, I didn't want to do it. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. And can you explain why your friend over here looks just about to murder me with his wine glass?"

The girl, who he now remembered had said her name was Kai, shoved her hands in her pockets and looked borderline disinterested. "Oh, you know, that just 'cause he's like, super obsessed with electronics or something-" Sarge interrupted with a single, powerfully delivered word. "Robotics." Kai nodded. "Yeah, that. Anyway, he gets super sensitive about that stuff. Apparently, it's like, not very likely for microwaves like that explode, I think."

York studied Sarge's face, which had softened a fraction while Kai was speaking. "Exactly! I'm not surprised that a bunch of low-life, college kids decided to blow up a perfectly good microwave! Son, do you know how many parts can be salvaged from one of those babies?"

York gave no reply. He simply stared, dumbfounded at the man who stood before him. Piano prodigy, robotics enthusiast, who knew what else he did?

"I'll tell you! I could have taken it apart and used those bits for my robot bits! Think of much closer I could have been to perfecting it if you hadn't destroyed it!" Sarge was on a roll now, and didn't seem inclined to stop. York made a frustrated noise. "I was on the other side of the country! How would you have even gotten that microwave?" He didn't like to raise his voice. He didn't like to get in arguments. But without _someone_  there to remind him to stop, he wasn't going to.

North, big, beautiful North, chose that moment to interrupt. He did it softly and calmly, putting a hand on the shoulders of both the men and said his smooth-as-honey voice, "Now now, don't cause a scene. York, a word please?"

York thanked any gods that may exist for the chance to duck out on that conversation. Sarge was quite a... Passionate man. He gave a quick nod to sarge and followed North a few paces away. "South says the boys are asleep." York nodded. "Good, good." "South _also_  says we're keeping her and CT from 'quality alone time' due to the fact that two small children are in the next room. So she says we have to take D and T out tomorrow."

North lifted both his eyebrows slightly, awaiting York's response. York shrugged. "That's sounds nice. I do want to explore more of this city. Maybe I can convince Carolina to tag along." He laced his fingers with North's and listened to the fuzzy chatter of people around them.

North hummed pensively, taking York's other hand and probably making them look like the most obnoxious couple ever. Of all time.

"I thought I'd treat David to a little something tomorrow, so you'll have to go without me. Think you can handle two cute kids all by yourself?" North leaned down and gave York a kiss right along the path his scar followed down his cheek. York nodded. "'Course I can. What are doing for Wash?"

North winked at him. "You're a horrible liar, babe, if I tell you, you'll tell him." York faked a swoon. "Oh, you wound me!" He fell limp in North's arms. "Now take me home before I pass out," He mumbled. North let out a deep, rumbling laugh and hoisted York back to his feet. "Alright, Drama Queen." York scoffed. "That title is reserved for Wash," he pointed out.

"Speaking of, have you seen him?" North shrugged. "Last time I saw him he was making bedroom eyes at one of his 'friends'. I'll let him know we're leaving." North pulled out his phone and shot off a quick text to Wash and Carolina. York had a disbelieving look on his face. "Since when does _Wash_  make bedroom eyes? That was usually you, right?" He looked up at North who was turning a shade pinker.

"Yes... But you're the one does it all the time to me." York, as if goaded on by North's tone of voice, did his best impression of the exact look in question. North, catching sight of York's expression, tightened his grip on his hand a quickened his pace toward the doors. "Can you at least wait until we get to the car?"

York jogged to keep up. "Barely."

* * *

 

"Lina, why'd you just ditch him?" Kimball was following after Carolina as she wove through the crowd to a secluded alcove which was probably there for the sole purpose of 'design'. Carolina shrugged.

"He could use a bit of humility, if I'm being honest. That man is way to cocky for someone with no depth perception." Kimball snorted. "At least he took your advice and didn't wear the gold suit," she pointed out. Carolina shrugged.

"True." She scrambled for something else to say and fill the silence. Kimball beat her to it. "What is it?"

Carolina thought about letting go of Kimball's hand. She thought about pulling her into a kiss. She thought about staying right where she was and taking Tucker's advice. In the end, she did none of those things.

She just spoke. "Vanessa. I think you're great. And after that night in the studio, I think- I think you're the best partner I could have asked for. I haven't dated anyone since York. I've only had a couple flings, nothing solid. But you are the most solid thing in my life right now. You ground me to reality, remind me that perfection isn't perfect and I really, really like you."

It sounded much better that what Tucker suggested she do. Kimball didn't let go of her hand. She held it tighter. "I really, really like you too." The grip she held on with brought Carolina back to yesterday afternoon, after they met up with York at Mother of Invention. When they decided to practice at the studio.

* * *

_"One, two, three, four-" Carolina executed her routine with finesse and grace and all the talent her mother insisted she was born with. Kimball kept time for her and watched Carolina dance across the floor._

_She finished, breathing hard and pushing a lock of hair out of her face. Kimball clapped gleefully. "That was amazing, Lina!" "No. I can do better. My footing was all wrong on that landing." Carolina straightened up and prepared to try again._

_Kimball shook her head. "Are you kidding? You've done this set four times, and it's been near-perfect every time. You've got it." Carolina turned to face her. "_ Near _-perfect. I can't settle for that. I'm going again." Kimball caught her wrist and pulled her closer. "If you were any better, you'd be an emotionless robot."_

_Carolina frowned, trying to pull her arm away. Kimball's grip held fast. "You're human, Carolina. Don't hold yourself to such high standards. You are the best dancer I've ever known. And believe me, I've known quite a few." She sat down on the floor and pulled Carolina with her, sitting cross-legged only a few inches apart._

_"Did I ever tell you I teach a class?" Kimball asked. Carolina shook her head slowly, unsure of where the conversation was going. "Well, I do. My class is mostly filled with teenagers trying to find a safe hobby and keep themselves out of the bad crowds. I know I shouldn't play favorites, but I've got a few I'm really proud of. I know they'll go places in life."_

_She looked down at her and Carolina's hands and slowly adjusted her grip from Carolina's wrist to her hand, so their fingers were intertwined. "There's a kid we call Smith. He's tall, kinda serious and I'm pretty sure he used to be a model. He can leap halfway across this studio without even thinking. Good kid. And then there's Katie Jensen. She's always smiling. She sprained her ankle a few weeks ago, it benched her. So she's been shouting positive things at the rest of the class, tinkering with whatever piece of machinery she brings. God, I love that kid. She's like the goddamn sun."_

_Kimball paused, sighing with so much love and so much fondness. Carolina was silent, waiting for Kimball to continue. "Matthews and Bitters, they've got to work on... A lot. Not exactly poster children for initiative. But it seems to me they like each other. I've rarely seen one without the other. But they'll never admit it to my face."_

_Carolina chuckled. "Sounds like two idiots I know."_

_Kimball smiled, her eyes locking with Carolina's. Those acid green eyes, boring into hers. Not with malice. Searching for something. For a sign. Kimball's breath hitched almost imperceptibly. "I almost forgot a out Palomo. He's-"_

_Carolina leaned forward. She didn't hear about Palomo. All she heard was Kimball's startled intake of breath as she pressed their lips together. Kimball was tense for a moment and Carolina was scared she'd read the mood all wrong. But a moment later Carolina was on her back on the studio floor with Kimball over her, still locked in the kiss. Carolina didn't want to move. She didn't want to stop whatever it was that was happening. So she brought her hands up and between hasty breaths, latched onto Kimball's hips and pulled her closer._

_Kimball pulled back first, her chest heaving in the best way. Her hair, once tied up in an immaculate bun, now hung down to her shoulders. The thick brown curls dangled in Carolina's face. It tickled, sending shivers down her body. "I-" Carolina tried to force words out of her mouth, but they wouldn't cooperate. So instead, she resorted to the next best thing. She pulled Kimball back down on top of her. Kimball was having better luck speaking._

_"You're not perfect," she mumbled, her voice a hoarse whisper that was_ doing things _to Carolina. "You're not perfect, but you're damn near it." She leaned down to initiate another kiss when her phone sounded an alarm. It was high-pitched, probably bells of some sort and the chime sounded throughout the whole studio, deafening in the tense silence. Kimball's eyes went wide._

_"Holy shit. It's Friday?" He sat up and pulled herself off Carolina. "My class is-" Carolina let out a disappointed groan, which was drowned out by the sound of the door opening and about twenty teenagers in various levels of hardcore dance clothing entering the studio. Kimball stared with panicked eyes as the group came to a stop. They all stared at the sight of their disheveled dance teacher and a red haired woman on the floor breathing heavily. A second passed and no one said a word. Carolina put everyone out of their silent misery by standing up and clearing her throat._

_"I suppose you're Vanessa's students?" She asked, casting a glance over at Kimball who was making herself presentable. A tall boy in the back nodded, his head visible above the rest. Carolina returned his nod. "I thought so. Well, sorry to interrupt. I should get going anyway." She made to walk around the crowd and they parted to let her pass. As she exited, Carolina heard a girl (who probably wore braces) say "Your girlfriend is hot!"_

_Carolina walked out into the cold air and stood there, letting it cool her warm cheeks. She had forgotten her clothes inside. And she had to give Kimball a ride home. So Carolina walked to her car and waited the full hour, shivering only slightly, for Kimball's class to end. They cast glances at each other the whole ride home._

* * *

 

Carolina opened her mouth as if to speak, her jaw working, trying to find _just the right words._  Kimball didn't have the words this time. So they acted instead of waiting for the words to come. Kimball leaned closer, up on her tiptoes to meet Carolina halfway. The second time, their kiss was just as good.

Softer, more discreet, but it sent the same shiver down Carolina's spine. It sent the same feeling right to her gut that she never got from anyone else. Kimball didn't want to be in the lobby of a crowded theatre. She wanted to be HOME, in her apartment with the knowledge that Carolina's bed was still destroyed and she loved to cuddle. Maybe they could do more than cuddle. Carolina must have had the same thoughts. Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she read out a text.

"York and North are leaving," she said like it was the most amusing thing she had ever head. "We should go too." Carolina said this with her lips so close to Kimball's it was hard to decipher it. Kimball nodded silently and took a step back, turning on her heel and taking Carolina with her towards the exit. "I'm starving anyway," Kimball mentioned. Carolina felt the beginnings of a smile on her face."I think I can throw something together." She almost added something else along the lines of ' _but I'd rather eat you_ ' but she shut up that thought and made a mental note to not ask Tucker for advice ever again. He was starting to rub off on her. Bow chicka bow wow. Damnit.

* * *

 

Wash gagged for the fifth time in as many minutes. He steeled himself and attempted another sip of the vile blood-wine. "Why are you still trying to stomach that gross wine? And I thought you didn't drink, what's up with that?" Tucker was sitting across from him with a glass of water. He was scrolling through instagram, which mostly consisted of Grif's pictures of food and Donut's aesthetic posts (paired with style tips). Wash held up his glass.

"I'm not going to waste this. And it's not that I _don't_  drink, its just that one drink leads to _four more_  and no one likes drunk Wash. Last time that happened... Well-" He brought up a hand to his scar and ran his finger along it. Tucker latched onto that movement.

"Ooooohhh, is that how you got the scar?" Tucker inquired, his eyebrows making a break for his hairline. "Yes." Wash didn't say more than that, but the answer sent Tucker's curiosity into overdrive. "Care to give me the details? Or- you don't have to, but..." Tucker shrugged. "I did give you a fuckton of compliments just now. And I told you my first name." Tucker snapped his fingers. "Why don't I guess again?"

Wash shook his head. "No no, that's fine. You don't have to guess." He sighed, long and slow, in the most melodramatic way humanly possible. "I guess sooner is better. I'm going to have to tell it eventually." Wash put down his finally empty wine glass and smoothed out his suit jacket. "A while ago, right before I left to move here and right before I broke up with-" Wash cleared his throat.

"Before I broke up with North... We had a party. York, you might have seen him, he's the one with the scar down his face and the milky eye? Well, he was in a band and played some songs. South, who's North's sister, brought a bunch of booze. I had some... A lot. Too much. Anyway, the party's winding down and I'm very drunk. Someone must have left their set of kitchen knives behind because the next thing I remember is I'm... I'm on the-"

Wash's eyes flicked up to Tucker, who is sitting quietly with an interested gaze. Wash avoided the interested gaze, choosing to look at his suddenly very interesting shoes and ignore the heat rising to his cheeks.

"-I'm on the kitchen counter with the knives and North comes over and- and I ask him to... You know, do something sexy with the knives. He must have- he must have been surprised. I never told him I liked that kind of thing before and I suddenly shove a knife in his hand- haha. So he tries... Tries to do something he thinks I'd like. And I do like it. A lot. Up until I taste blood and I hear North swearing and he asks me if I'm alright." Wash realized he'd been gripping onto the hem of his jacket again. He released his hands suddenly, still avoiding Tucker's gaze.

"So that's the story of how drunk Wash got a cut on his mouth and didn't take care of it so he got a scar. Happy?" Wash finally dragged his eyes up from the floor, up past Tucker's legs and up past Tucker's chest and up to Tucker's eyes- His eyes, with a shimmering _something_  in them that made Wash's cheeks light up and he almost regretted saying all that. Almost.

Tucker nodded slowly and deliberately. "Yeah, I'm happy. To be honest, I was expecting something a lot less sexy. Like you ran into a doorframe or something." He pulled up his sleeve and pointed to a thin, pale scar on his forearm. It was barely visible. "See that? I tried to reach for the cookie jar when I was five inches too short. The cookie jar fell off the shelf and shattered. Got a huge chunk in my arm. Mama was _furious_." Tucker laughed at the memory.

"See, your story is way better." Wash smiled too, basking in the brightness Tucker gave off. He was glad Tucker hadn't pried any further. "Yeah, way better. Still embarrassing. Don't tell anyone else, 'Kay?" Tucker nodded vigorously. "My lips are sealed, dude. Unless you want me to do something with these lips, Bow chicka bow wow." Tucker gave Wash a wink.

The color still hadn't left Wash's cheeks, and Tucker's comment certainly didn't help. "Well, I- not that I don't- Why would you even-" Tucker snorted at Wash's endearing display of being flustered.

"Relax dude, it was just a joke."  _Unless you want me to-_

Wash calmed down a bit but still jumped when his phone buzzed, alerting a text. He fumbled with it, in a hurry to distract himself, and opened North's text. "Oh, North and York are heading home. Holy shit, it's late. I should-" Wash stood up abruptly and attempted to smooth his hair down. "-I should go. I need to try and sleep, like you said."

Wash cast a glance at Tucker who was trying to figure out wether he should try and initiate a hug. He didn't have to decide, because Wash started to walk backwards, away from him and towards the door. "I'll text you sometime, bye!" He waved a hand in the air and turned on his heel, leaving Tucker alone by the wine and Sarge, Caboose, Church and Kai near the entrance. Tucker felt his eyes droop a fraction of an inch and decided he should head home too, before he fell asleep at the wheel.

* * *

 

"Okay, I texted Kai and she said she's spending the night at a friend's house. So we can go back and play video games or, I dunno, Star Trek? You're into that, right?" Grif was standing next to his car and gesturing animatedly with his keys. Simmons cast a glance over at his own car. "I can't leave my car here, Grif," he protested. Grif thought it was a weak attempt to try and get out of spending time with him. "So, drive yourself there. Here, I'll give you my address. I'm fairly sure you're not an axe-murderer." Grif walked over to him and stood so close their shoulders were brushing. Simmons reluctantly handed Grif his phone to input the address. "There, easy-peasy." Grif handed Simmons back his phone and opened his car door. "Come on, it'll be fun. No one but us. If Kai were there, it would be loud. And by loud, I mean sex loud." Simmons sputtered what he hoped translated to an affirmative reply.

"Fine. Asshole. I'm picking the episode." Simmons got in his car and slammed the door as angrily as he could without breaking the door. Grif nodded and followed suit. He made sure Simmons was looking at him when he gave him his 'if-you-let-me-down-I'll-die' look.

Simmons rolled his eyes and focused on the road.

* * *

 

Wash unlocked his door and let out a feeble "I'm home" to his empty apartment. Fuck, getting a cat would make his life so much less lonely. Wash dragged himself to his bedroom, stripped out of his suit and into his fluffy fleece pajamas.

He flopped down on his bed and let out a long-winded breath he could have sworn he was holding all evening. Now, to business. He had promised himself to _think about his feelings_ and _figure himself out_.

He wasn't going to back down now. Besides, there was nothing else for him to do except browse the Internet and look at other people's cute cats. Wash got himself a glass of water and settled under his thick comforter (because he is cold 24/7) and closed his eyes. He decided focusing on this evening would be more manageable. So he focused on Tucker.

Tucker.

Lavernius Tucker. Lavernius Tucker had given him four compliments this evening. He had said Wash's name was hot, he had said he had pretty eyes. Tucker had said Wash looked good blonde and that his freckles were 'the cutest thing'.

Lavernius Tucker had been about to say something. Something that had been nagging at the back of Wash's skull all night.

"-maybe I should make you scr-" What. Was he going. To say? Maybe I should make you scrub the floors in my house? Maybe I should make you scrape all the ice off my car? No. That wasn't Tucker. Tucker would say something like "Maybe I should make you scream my name."

Holy shit. Wash sat bolt upright in bed. Okay, maybe that was what he was going to say. It certainly fit along the lines of "-unless you want me to do something else with these lips." Wash put a hand to his heart and tried to slow the rapid beating. He snatched his phone off his bedside and shot off a text to Carolina.

_Wash: I think Tucker's hitting on me, what do I do?_

Carolina took a moment to respond.

_Carolina: Really Wash, I'm busy._

_Carolina: And I don't exactly know what to tell you._

_Carolina: Maybe talk to him about it?_

Wash snorted indignantly.

_Wash: Sure. "Hi Tucker, we're you hitting on me last night? Because I actually couldn't tell." That's attractive._

_Carolina: You seem to care a lot about wether or not you're attractive. Believe me, I got more than my fair share of details through the grapevine when you and North were together. You're plenty attractive._

_Carolina: Not to me, of course._

Wash sighed and let some of the tension out of his shoulders.

_Wash: Thanks. Now I'll leave you to whomever you were doing. G'night._

Carolina sent him an angry face emoji and he turned his phone off. His mind was abuzz with 'what-ifs', but eventually he fell into a relatively comfortable sleep. He wasn't too worried. Tomorrow held plenty of opportunities for him to 'talk' with Tucker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my fucking- okay, I've noticed a severe lack of Donut innuendos and Tucker jokes so I will try to make up for that. And no, Donut and Doc's story is by no means over. I intend to wrap up the relationships (and by that I mean have them say 'ILY') at relatively the same time.
> 
> I have no idea, but we might be about halfway through? I'm super excited and thank you to everyone who has consistently stayed with me through this shitty fic. I promise, my next fic will have some good old Nightmare stricken Wash. I didn't want to add that in this one because it was just so sweet, I couldn't do that to him.
> 
> And appearantly, Wash being good with knives in canon somehow translates to Wash being into knifeplay. Somehow.
> 
> I love comments! Give me your constructive criticism if you have any, give me plain old love if you don't!
> 
> EDIT: Holy heck, over 400 hits? How neat!


	11. Because I dragged you down with me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone spends Saturday doing something relatively relaxing. Wash goes shopping, Carolina sleeps in and Church tries to pay bills.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did it! Wooo. Not much else to say atm other than my timeline is so fucked up, I just stopped caring completely.

Wash woke up to his phone ringing obnoxiously. He so rarely got actual phone calls, he had never bothered to change his ringtone. It wasn't a particularly enjoyable noise to wake up to.

Wash groaned and turned over, feeling clumsily for his phone on the nightstand. He almost dropped it twice before opening his eyes and squinting at the screen.

Holy shit. It was 10:24 in the morning and North was calling him.

Wash accepted the call in the blink of an eye. "G'mornin. W'sup?" Wash sounded like hell.

 _"David? Good morning, you sound like hell. And it's ten o'clock, you'd usually be up by now."_ North sounded well-rested and cheerful, like always. He had probably woken up at six, gone for a run, taken a shower, made breakfast for himself and York (and their kids) and maybe run a few errands. Because that was just like him.

Wash had gotten into that habit too, back when they lived together. He feel out of the routine once he had moved and only rarely went out for a run anymore. "Never mind my sleeping habits, why'd you call?" Wash rubbed his eyes and sat up in bed, swinging his legs over the side and stretching. _"Nothing much. I was just wondering, York's taking the boys out today, would you want to go to a shelter?"_ North's voice didn't lose any of it's rich quality over the phone, Wash noticed. Still crisp, still smooth like honey. Wash blinked. "What?"

 _"To an animal shelter, David. You were saying last night that you didn't have a cat, so I thought, why not? My treat. Think of it as an apology of sorts?"_ North waited for Wash's reply. He glanced over at South, who was passing by him with a basket of laundry. She stuck her tongue out at him. Wash rummaged around his dresser in search of a respectable outfit. He paused. North's treat? Wash did _really_ want a cat, and he had free time now... But he was going to talk to Tucker. He couldn't do both, if the cat search was going to be an all day affair.

Or could he?

Who knew, Junior might like dogs. "Yeah, sure. And I think I'll bring some friends, just one.. And his nine-year-old." Plus, it'd keep him from having to delve into old memories. North hummed in agreement. _"Sounds good. You think you'd be ready to go by eleven?"_ Wash nodded. "Probably. Do you want to pick me up or should I-"

 _"Oh no, let's definitely take your car. Trust me, after what York and I did to it last night, you don't want to go near it, much less inside it."_ Wash felt himself blush. For someone so soft-spoken and gentle, North could be quite shameless.

Over the phone, Wash heard unmistakable sound of South's voice, yelling from some other room: _"No one wants to hear about your sexual escapades, especially not someone who's been kept from any of her own for three days!"_ Wash suppressed a snicker. "Tell South I said hi."

North chuckled. _"Will do. By the way, do you need an address?"_ Wash pulled out a faded blue shirt with yellow stripes that had been stuffed in the corner of his dresser. He shrugged and put it on. "Yeah, actually. I have no idea where you're staying." North winced. _"I guess I didn't mention it to you, huh? I'm staying at South's apartment... On the east side. I'll text you where."_ Wash almost dropped his phone for the third time. Since when did _South_  live here? He shook himself. Not the time, he told himself. Think about cats, tiny kittens, fluffy little- awwww. Better.

"Okay. Now I'm going to get something to eat and haul ass over there before you do some serious damage to South's sanity," Wash said, pulling on a pair of grey jeans and heading into his kitchen. "Bye."

 _"Bye David, see you in a bit."_ North hung up and left Wash at the mercy of two eggs and what was left of a taco he had two nights ago. Wash got out his frying pan.

* * *

 

"-and this girl, she's called Bella, she said that I couldn't wear nail polish because I'm a boy! And I told her that I look pretty in it, and another girl who's called Nina said that I looked pretty in it and that Bella was stupid. And then-" Junior looked up at Tucker, who had glanced down to check his phone for the fifth time in half an many minutes.

"Dad, what are you doing?" Junior asked, startling Tucker out of his trance. Tucker put down his phone and turned his attention back to the kitchen island, on which was resting at least six bottles of nail polish. He leaned over to continue applying a coat to Junior's fingernails, in a shimmering teal similar to his own.

"Oh, sorry. I was just checking if Wash texted me." Tucker concentrated very hard on what he was doing, hoping that it would distract him from the judging look he knew Junior was giving him. He hated that look. It made him look too much like his mother. Junior sighed. "Don't do that. It makes you look desperate." Tucker snorted. "As if you're an expert?" He exclaimed, finishing coating Junior's nails and leaning back in his chair.

Junior shrugged. "Maybe. I got a lot of candy at school on Valentine's Day, and Nina said she thought I was cute. It looks like I'm doing better than you, Dad." He turned to Tucker with a huge grin on his face. It showed his dimples, the same ones Tucker had when he smiled that wide. Tucker gasped and shoved Junior playfully. "You little rascal! How do you know I'm not going out every night and making out with hot chicks? Or dudes! Or both? At the same time!" Tucker threw his hands up in the air for dramatic effect. "You don't!"

Junior stuck out his tongue. He kept his hands on the table to let the polish dry and looked out the window. It was snowing again. "Dad! Can we go sledding if it snows enough? Maybe we can see if uncle Caboose and uncle Church want to go with us!" Junior started bouncing up and down in his seat. Tucker giggled. "Maybe we can. But only if-" Tucker was cut off by the doorbell ringing. It echoed through the now abruptly silent house.

Tucker got up and walked to the door. "Who the fuc- Wash! What's up?" Tucker threw his arms up and beckoned Wash inside. "Come in come in, its fucking freezing outside." Wash let himself be pushed inside and shook off his clothes in the entryway. Junior poked his head around the doorway.

"Wash! Did you play that song last night? The one you played for me?" he shouted in lieu of a greeting. Wash tugged off his scarf and coat and set them on the rack. "The very same one. I got a lot of applause, but to be honest, it wasn't as nice as the standing ovation I got from you." Junior's face lit up like the sun. Tucker looked appalled. "How come you haven't offered to play for _me_  yet?" Wash cast him a sidelong glance. "Maybe because I haven't gotten an offer from _you_?" He grinned. "But I'm forgetting why I came! Do you two have plans today?" Tucker shook his head vigorously. Junior nodded. "We do if it snows a lot!" He shouted from the kitchen.

Wash shrugged. "Well, I'm going downtown with North to an animal shelter to-"

"Did you say animals?" And suddenly Junior was at his side, looking up with interest. Wash looked from Tucker to Junior and back, his look bordering on admiring. "I did say animals. I think North is convinced I'm lonely, so he wants to  get me a cat. Do you feel like looking at animals all day, Tucker?" Tucker shrugged and turned his eyes away from Wash's biceps, framed so nicely by the soft fabric of the long-sleeved shirt he had on.

"Yeah, I'm not going to anything otherwise. Should be nice to get out of the house." He patted Junior on the shoulder as he walked past. "Get real clothes on, Junior, and get your coat." He walked to the kitchen island and grabbed his phone. Oh. He had written a memo to himself last night around one in the morning.

He opened it. It read: _Holy fiuckign shjit I need to buy soem knuives forr Wash becase he thinks theyre sexxy_

Wow. One a.m. Tucker didn't check his spelling, apparently. He put his phone in his pocket and grabbed his wallet, shouting for Junior before slipping on his boots and waiting in the entry hall for him. Wash was still there, still wearing his heavy winter boots and still. Wearing. That goddamn shirt. He looked good in blue. "Nice shirt, where'd you get it?" Tucker asked, tired of the silence. Wash started, clearly lost in his own thoughts.

"I think I got it from... Carolina, who borrowed it from Church and never gave it back." Wash nodded, deciding the story was probably true. Tucker snorted. "That skinny fucker has a shirt that fits you?" Tucker dragged his eyes over Wash's torso. "Well, somewhat. Snug fit." Tucker snapped his eyes up to Wash's and gave him a wink. Wash reddened. "Is it too tight?" He fretted, tugging at one of the sleeves. He hadn't caught the wink and was now too busy being self-conscious to think about it.

Tucker shook his head. "No dude, it's fine. Makes you look hot." He cleared his throat. "And god knows you need it, it's fucking freezing." Junior thumped across the floor in his boots and heavy coat, shattering the tense atmosphere with his oblivious cheer. "I wanna see some dogs!" he shouted and pushed past the two men and out the door. Wash pointed after him. "I should mention we're taking my car." He grabbed his coat and scarf and followed Junior, shouting "Wait buddy, over here, my car!" Tucker checked himself once more (wallet, phone, good looks, all check) and followed the other two outside, locking the door behind him.

* * *

 

Church sat on his new (blue) couch, among the mostly still unpacked boxes, trying to figure out when the fuck he had to pay for shit. The thing was, he didn't like paying for shit. Not one bit. Bills were total bullshit and he hated them. Church sighed loudly and put down his heap of bills, abandoning them in favor of whatever might be in the fridge. There wasn't much. There wasn't even anything in the alcohol cabinet, aside from a bottle of Vodka he stole from Carolina a while back. Caboose seemed to be happy, however.

He had an apple, a dropcloth over the new hardwood floors and some clay. Blue clay. Church didn't want to think about how long it took him to find blue clay on Amazon. Too long. Caboose stopped molding the clay, which at this point looked like a cross between a sunflower and an attempt at his own face, and turned around to face Church. "I need glitter, Church. I need a lot. A lot of glitter, Church. Please." He had one hand pointed upstairs towards his bedroom. "In my art box. Please, Church."

Church groaned. "You're killing me, Caboose," he muttered, but it didn't hold any venom. He trudged upstairs and located Caboose's art box. It was a big old clothing trunk he had inherited from his Dad and it had colorful tiny hand-prints all over it. Caboose said they were from his sisters, however many he had. Church located the glitter and trudged back downstairs. He handed the container to Caboose with a stern warning. "If any of it gets off this dropcloth, I'm not giving you ice cream for a month."

Caboose nodded solemnly and turned back to his sculpture. He was very careful and only spilled a little bit. The bills were staring him right in the face, so Church reluctantly sat back down, ready to tackle them, when he was interrupted by a knock at the door. Curiosity outweighed his desire to pay bills, so opened the door. "Hi there, I heard you have a dog and some boxes that need unpacking?" York stood in the doorway, grinning like a salesman, with his two boys standing on either side of him. Church looked confused to say the least.

"What the fuck?"

York tried again. "I'll unpack your boxes for you if you let my boys play with your dog." Church looked less confused how. "Oh, boxes. Yeah, you can unpack for me, he'll knows I'm not doing any time soon. But you'll have to ask Caboose about Freckles." He looked down at the two boys. "Come in, I guess?" He stepped back and let them through the doorway. York leaned down and mumbled something to them. "Take off your coats and boots first, boys, don't get his floor all dirty." The boys obediently removed them and set them by the doorway. "Huh, nice kids you got," Church said. York laughed. "Seems that way, doesn't it? They can be a handful sometimes." Church nodded. "So can Caboose. Speaking of," He turned around and yelled across the living room to where Caboose was still pouring glitter onto his creation.

"Caboose, can these two play with Freckles?" He pointed to the two boys. Caboose nodded. "Oh yeah, just be careful. He gets really playful sometimes and he almost knocked Church over." Church grumbled. He hadn't been fond of that instance. He turned back to the two boys and noticed York poking around in one of the boxes. It was mostly books, good. "By the way, what are your names?" The taller boy, who had a front tooth missing and light brown curly hair like Caboose, puffed out his chest with pride. "I'm Theta."

His... Brother? Shorter, no missing teeth and short-cropped hair so dark it was almost black, waved and said "I am Delta." Church nodded pensively. "Cute names. Anyway, go play upstairs and don't mess with my shit, got it?" Theta and Delta nodded, and as soon as they saw Freckles bounding down the hall, ran after him with glee. Church sat down for the third time and tried to pay his bills. It didn't go as planned. Within five minutes, Theta came barreling around the corner and stopped himself, arms outstretched, on the couch. Church turned to look at him, brow furrowed. "What the-" And there was Delta, who did the exact same thing. Church stood up abruptly, brandishing a packet of wet wipes.

"Okay, the next person who touches this couch gets a _disinfectant wipe to the face_!" He shouted, opening up the packet and pulling out a wipe. He flapped it near Theta's face. York, who didn't even look up from unpacking, clicked his tongue. "Boys, listen to Mr. Church. Go play upstairs." Theta sprinted up the stairs, Delta on his heels. Satisfied, Church gave a nod and sat back down. York stopped unpacking the box of photos and looked up at Church. "What's so special about that couch," he said. Church shrugged. "It's a new fucking couch. Who knows what they've been touching."

Caboose made a noise from across the room, a cross between a gasp and a yelp. Church turned quickly, just in time to see the half-empty container of glitter fall to the floor. It landed, not on the dropcloth, but on Church's nice new hardwood floors. "Goddamnit, Caboose! What did I just say!?" He gestured to the mess, not quite a big as it could have been, and sighed. "Clean off your hands and go get the broom." Caboose muttered an apology as he shuffled off down the hall, looking dejected. Church groaned. "I'm not mad, Caboose." Caboose shrugged. "I know. I'm mad at myself." Church watched him go down the hall until he turned and went into the bathroom. "Fuck."

York, who was still unpacking photos, whistled loudly. "Hey Church, who's this?" He held up a small photo in a square blue frame. Church squinted at it and walked over to get a better look. His eyes went wide and he snatched the photo out of York's grasp. "That's- she's not- It doesn't matter. Just don't mess with it." He took one last look at it before pressing it to his chest and turning to go upstairs. The photo was of him and his girlfriend from years ago, in the spring. There were tiny pink blossoms all around them and she was smiling like the sun. Church was smiling too, a rare genuine smile that showed too much. He was looking at her, at Allison, with the eyes of someone in love.

Church opened the door to his bedroom and made sure no one had been in there before going inside and putting the photos gently on his bedside table and leaving again. He made sure to close the door behind him.

* * *

 

Simmons awoke to the sound of someone knocking on the door. Well, knocking was putting it lightly. They were trying to beat the door to a pulp with their bare fist. He didn't move at first, deciding that wherever he had fallen asleep was very nice and warm. Kind of squishy too.

He remembered the night before: A huge bowl of caramel popcorn, watching Star Trek with Grif curled up next to him. Simmons opened his eyes and noticed he didn't have his glasses on. The next thing he noticed was that Grif was sleeping next to him. Or rather, underneath him. Simmons brought his hands to his mouth. Oh shit. He had fallen asleep _ontop_  of Grif. How? Why? And where were his glasses?

Simmons got up from the couch slowly and felt around on the coffee table. Ah, there they were. Someone had taken his glasses off and put them on the table so he didn't break them. That was sweet. Simmons was jolted out of his thoughts by more knocking on the door. He tried to wake up Grif. Simmons gently shook him by the shoulders. "Grif. Grif, wake up!" No movement. Simmons groaned and shook him harder. "Get the _FUCK UP_ , fatass!" He shouted.

This time, Grif sat bolt upright and opened his eyes. "What?" Simmons looked triumphant. "Good, you're up. Someone's at the door." Grif rubbed his eyes sleepily. "At this hour?" He grumbled. Simmons shocked his watch. "Actually, it's- Holy shit, it's eleven o'clock!" Simmons realized suddenly he was still wearing his nice maroon wool sweater from last night. And he hadn't brushed his teeth. Ew.

Grif shrugged. "That's earlier than I usually wake up on a Saturday. Well," He stood up and stretched his arms. "Let's see who thought it was a good idea to try and talk to me before noon." He shuffled to the door and opened it a crack.

"Well fuck," He mumbled as he was greeted with the disheveled face of Sarge at his door.

* * *

 

"You two have met before, right? Briefly?" Wash looked between the two. To his right, in the passenger seat, North nodded. Behind him, bust barely visible in the rear-view-mirror, Tucker also nodded. "For about one second." Wash smiled. "Okay then. Let's go." He started up the car and started down the road. "So North, what kind of kinky shit did you and Wash get up to? Other than knife stuff." Tucker asked, oblivious to the nine year old sitting next to him. Wash choked on air. "T-Tucker, what the hell?" Wash reddened, trying to keep his eyes on the road.

North chuckled, despite himself being red as a tomato. "I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to tell you. David made me swear to secrecy." He raised an eyebrow. "And how did you know about the uh... The knives?" Wash glanced over. "That was me. I told him about my scar," Wash said, still keeping his eyes on the road. He looked back in the mirror. "And as far as I know, there's nothing else but knives." Tucker caught him staring and he averted his gaze. North took it upon himself to lighten the mood, considering Junior was going to continue being silent. "So Tucker, has David told you about the time he and Carolina got drunk and made towers out of shot glasses?" Wash glared at North.

"No, I didn't tell him that, because it's _horribly embarrasing_  and I've told York so many times that I'm sorry for breaking them!" His voice pitched up with every word and suddenly Tucker was afraid he would break the windows with his voice. "Hey look, we're here! Everybody out!" Wash pulled into a parking spot and exited the car like it was on fire. "Now we don't have to talk about the stupid things I've done while drunk!" He put up his hands in mock celebration.

North put his arm around Wash's shoulder. "Okay, I'm sorry. I won't do it again. Now let's get you a cat."

Junior ran up to them and began talking at a million miles per hour about all the kinds of dogs he liked. Tucker made to follow them, when out of the corner of his eye he spotted a home appliance store. The kind that sold bowls and colanders and spoons and, more importantly, _knives_.

Tucker grinned devilishly. "Hey guys, I'll catch up with you in a bit! Watch Junior for me, 'kay?" And off he went, leaving Wash to follow him with his gaze until he disappeared into the store. Tucker walked up to an employee and held up two different knives. one was a small paring knife and the other an all-purpose kitchen knife. "Which one's sexier?" He asked with an innocent smile on his face.

* * *

 

Grif dragged a hand down his face and groaned. "You barge into my house on a Saturday, effectively ruining my Saturday, just to tell Simmons you made a _robot_?" He Stared across the table at a very ecstatic Sarge and the tiny humanoid figure on the table between them. Sarge nodded, quite proud of himself.

"Yep. I made him all by myself. I call him 'Lopez.'" Grif blinked at him. "Why?" He asked, too tired to look annoyed.

Sarge shrugged. "I dunno. It seemed right. Say Hi, Lopez. Hehe." Lopez raised his tiny robot arm in a greeting. Sarge's blood ran cold. "I didn't program that," He said, fear creeping into his voice.

Grif rolled his eyes. "Oh, now you're saying your robot is self-aware?" Simmons raised his eyebrows. "Maybe Grif. We really don't know much about sentience or robot self-awareness or-" Grif held up a hand. "Okay, sure. Whatever you say. I don't feel like listening to your nerd talk right now." Simmons huffed. "I think it's really great, Sarge. Great design."

"Kiss-ass" Grif mumbled. He got up and retreated to the kitchen. Simmons turned back to the tiny robot. "This is truly amazing. It's so simple, yet so detailed. And to think it might be self-aware!" He peered at it closer. "We should get Donut over here. He'd love this."

Simmons heard a clang from the kitchen and Grif yelling "No! Do not bring Donut over here! He's the only one who _hasn't_  set foot in this house, and I'd like to keep it that way, thank you very much!" Simmons rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Sarge, I think you should go show Lopez to Donut." He ushered Sarge to the door. "Thanks for stopping by, see you later!" And he shut the door in Sarge's face. "Grif, I know  we just spent all last night watching Star Trek but... Do you want to watch Star Trek?"

Grif peeked around the doorframe. "Sure, why not? I wasn't going to anything different anyway." He brought out a bowl of chips which Simmons stated was not a healthy breakfast and sat down on the couch. Simmons sat down next to him and Grif put his feet up in Simmons' lap. "What the hell? Get your feet off," Simmons protested. Grif just shrugged.

"What? You're warm. And my feet are cold." Simmons resorted to just silently pouting while Grif flicked through Netflix. He cast a glance over every once in a while. Grif got tired of it and sighed. "What is it, Simmons?" He asked, stopping his search and turning to look at Simmons. Simmons squirmed. He didn't really want to talk about it. They had been just fine last night, sitting in silence and watching. Not talking. Especially not about something... Like this. But nevertheless, his mouth decided to move of its own accord.

"Why did you do have to do that?" He wailed, throwing his hands up. Grif looked taken aback and quickly moved his feet off of Simmons. Simmons shook his head. "Not that. Last night! You- you just-" It finally clicked and Grif opened his mouth in realization. "Oh! You mean when I licked the chocolate off you! Yeah that was just to make Donut leave." He looked over at Simmons. "And to see your reaction. Which, by the way, was totally worth it. You were pretty adorable." Simmons stopped being exasperated and started being embarrassed.

"I was-" He frowned slightly, trying to remember the last time someone called him that. "-adorable?" His shoulders sagged and slumped back down on the couch. "I was adorable? That's new." And suddenly he was leaning over and putting his head on Grif's shoulder and not caring about how his breath probably smelled like a dead possum. Grif said he was adorable. That didn't happen often.

* * *

 

Tucker exited the store with a plastic bag and a spring in his step. He walked the fifty feet down the sidewalk and pushed open the door to the animal shelter and was greeted with the cacophonous sounds of various animals all around. And in the midst of it all he saw Wash in all his bleached-blonde glory, decked with freckles and a world-stopping smile, with a tiny gray kitten holding onto his head for dear life.

Junior was standing next to him, craning his neck to look up at the kitten and laughing his head of while North took the cat gently in his grasp and tried to pry it off Wash's head. Tucker pulled out his phone and snapped about twelve photos before the kitten was dislodged from Wash's head and he took it from North.

"Aren't you just the sweetest?" he cooed, as if talking to a baby. He looked up and saw Tucker staring, immediately going a few shades redder and holding the kitten up to shield his face. Junior turned around and ran over to him. "Dad! Dad! They have lizards! And they're so cool and I want a lizard!" He pulled Tucker by the arm over to an empty fishtail filled with tree branches that had two small geckos inside. Tucker smirked. "Those are _geckos_ , Junior, and you can have one if your grades go up and you can keep your plants alive for more than a week."

He ruffled Junior's hair affectionately. Junior's smiled wavered only slightly. "Yeah, okay. I'll try. But I want _that one!_ " He pointed to the larger gecko, "and I'm going to name him Junior Junior!" Tucker snorted at the name and nodded. "Okay buddy. Show me those grades first." He watched Junior skip away to look at the puppies and turned back around to face Wash. "I saw you with that tiny devil. You like her?" Wash looked up from petting the 'tiny devil' and nodded. "She reminds me of the first cat I had. I was ten. She ran away." Wash smiled sadly. He looked up at North, who was having a conversation with a sulfur-crested cockatoo.

"North? Do you remember my first cat?" North cocked his head, deep in thought, but lost it when the cockatoo imitated his movement. "I do. Ella was her name, right?" Wash nodded. "Yep. I think I'll name this cutie here Ella too." He petted Ella's head again and was lost in the rhythm of her small, quiet purring. Tucker sidled up to him and got a good look at her.

"Whoa, she has eyes just like yours!" Tucker looked from Ella to Wash. "That's freaky, dude."

"Hey, they are. What do you know?" Wash turned to Tucker and noticed the bag in his hand. He narrowed his eyes. "What's in the bag, Tucker?" Tucker hid it from view. "It's a secret. Maybe I'll show it to you later... In private, if you know what I mean." He waggled his eyebrows at Wash, who managed to school his face into a fairly neutral expression.

"Okay, I think I'm done here," Wash said as he headed over to officially rescue his tiny kitten. Tucker nodded. "Junior!" he called. "Come here dude." Junior put down the bunny he was holding and ran to his father's side. Tucker looked down at him. "We're gonna go soon. Wash's done here and I want to see if we can get him to come over and watch a movie. How does that sound?" Junior nodded. "Yeah! I wanna watch a movie with Wash! He's so fun. He didn't even get mad when I spilled flour all over the floor that one time!"

Junior ran off to find Wash and suddenly Tucker was left with North and the cockatoo. "Good kid. He reminds me of Theta," North mused. Tucker snorted. "He's a fucking handful is what he is." North nodded. "That's Theta. Hey, what do you say we set up a playdate sometime?" Tucker shrugged. "Why not? Junior needs to spend more time with other people or he'll end up like me."

North raised his eyebrow. "In what way?"

Tucker sighed. "In every way. He'll make stupid decisions, end up a single Dad and make bad sex jokes as a last ditch attempt to get laid." North didn't look convinced. "Dude, have you met me? To be fair, I usually make way more jokes, but I toned it down for Wash." North smiled and tried to hide it by turning back to the cockatoo.

"I take you like him?" Tucker faked surprise. "Was it really that obvious? Junior tells me I make heart eyes at him. I wouldn't doubt it." North turned back. "He's sensitive, if you couldn't already tell. He wants someone who will always be there. And someone who will be willing to get up and follow him too, it seems."

Tucker nodded. "Yeah, I get that. I'm willing to. He's great. Amazing. And he's got beautiful eyes." North looked over to where Wash was sitting with Junior petting Ella. "He does have pretty eyes. Just don't fuck it up. I already did enough to him." Tucker walked past North and patted his shoulder. "Will do." He waved to Wash and pointed to the door. Wash stood up, Ella curled up in his arms, and came closer.

"Are we ready to go?" Tucker nodded.

"And go home to watch a movie, if what Junior told me is true?" Tucker nodded again. "If you want to."

Wash nodded. "I'd love to. But first I have to text Donut about redecorating." Tucker flinched. "Oooh. Texting Donut has always been a trying experience. Even for me. Just try not to misinterpret things, 'Kay?" Wash nodded slowly. "I'll keep that in mind." He looked up at North then down to Junior. "You ready?" They both nodded and Wash led them outside and back to his car. He strapped Junior in and carefully handed him Ella to hold in his lap. "Just make sure she's safe," he reminded Junior before getting in the driver's seat and heading back toward South's place to drop off North.

* * *

 

Church had kicked York and his boys out ten minutes ago and he was standing in the living room with Caboose, trying to calm him down from his hysterics. "Caboose, you're okay. Buddy, I'm not mad at you. Please stop- Caboose just look at me! Please? Better. Okay. I'm still gonna let you have ice cream." He held Caboose's shoulders and looked him in the eyes.

"Caboose. It's okay. It's easy to clean up. You're fine. It's fine. Calm down and stop crying. It's just glitter." Caboose wiped his eyes. "But I haven't made a mess in so long, I thought I wasn't going to again. And now I did it again and it's like- it's like I didn't even make any pr- progress!" Church furrowed his brow. "You've been really good about keeping clean, but even I make messes. Do you remember last night when we came back from Wash's show and I spilled the last of the spaghetti all over my shirt? Yeah, stop laughing now."

He too started chuckling despite himself. "Okay it was pretty funny." Soon they were both on their knees wailing with laughter. "See? All better now. I know how you get when you're calm. You get fragile. It's okay, I do too. But we both know how to make each other feel better. Like how you made me coffee that one time when I was looking at... The picture." Caboose nodded. "You were so sad. But I made you less sad. And you let me bring my blankets in and we made a blanket fort and it was the best sleepover ever!"

Church was sitting on the floor now, looking around at the living room. There were fewer boxes now and more books and pictures on the shelves. There were even a few more of Caboose's paintings on the wall and some of his sculptures on a shelf. There was no more glitter on the floor and his new creation was drying on the table. Freckles had burrowed his way into Caboose's lap.

"Hey Caboose? Do you want to make a blanket fort?" He grinned slyly, watching Caboose's eyes light up. "Oh my gosh! Of course I do! We can make it in my room since I have more blankets and my bed is so good for forts. And this is going to be Freckles' first sleepover! We're going to have so much fun! Let's go!" He jumped up from the floor and ran upstairs, Freckles hot on his heels. Church had finally paid his bills, so there wasn't anything else he needed to do except unpack and he wasn't going to do that if he had the option of sitting under a blanket fort all day. A blanket fort sounded fun. He turned and ran up the stairs after Caboose, stopping by his room on the way to drag all the blankets and pillows off his bed.

* * *

 

Carolina sat up in bed and turned on her phone. It was almost two p.m. She stared at it, disbelieving. "I can't believe I've done nothing all day." Kimball rolled over and brushed the hair out of her face. "Well, you've done _one_  thing. Me." she winked at Carolina and sat up too.

"And besides, marathoning the Fast and Furious movies isn't nothing." Carolina's groaned. "I'm going to regret that for the rest of my life." She put her face in her hands. Kimball frowned. "Which? Fucking me, or the marathon?" Carolina turned to look at her, narrowing her eyes. "What do you think? You're the best lay I've had in years."

Kimball blushed. "Aww, thanks. Same to you. I like a woman who takes charge. Like me." Carolina dragged herself out of bed. "I'm flattered, but I have to eat something other than popcorn today. Do you want to go out?" Kimball flopped back down in bed. "My fridge _is_  a graveyard, so I guess we have to. Unless you're fine with boxed rice and maybe habanero peppers?" Carolina gagged.

"Ew. No, we're going out. So put on some clothes." Kimball stood up and flexed her arms. "What, don't like what you see?" Carolina blushed. "I like it just fine, I just... Want it all to myself." She turned and walked out of the bedroom to avoid more embarrassment before coming back in to pick up her own clothes.

"Where do you want to go?" She asked while hastily pulling her shirt on. Kimball thought for a moment. "Let's get sandwiches. I know a good place on the northside that makes amazing eggplant sandwiches." Carolina loved eggplant sandwiches. It was what some people might call 'weird', but ever since York made her one years ago, it became her all time favorite.

Kimball finished dressing and grabbed Carolina's hand, dragging her out of the bedroom and down the hall to the front door. She pulled on her boots and grabbed her keys and wallet. Carolina did the same. Kimball pulled on her heavy jacket and gloves, because her hands got cold easily and opened the door. "Don't you have gloves, Lina?" She asked, noticing Carolina's bare fingers. Carolina shrugged.

"I do have some, but they're in my apartment." Kimball raised her eyebrow and gave Carolina a sly glance."You mean the same apartment you abandoned to come and live with me?"

Carolina scoffed and took Kimball's hand in hers. "It's only been two days, and yes, the very same one."

Kimball shrugged. "Why don't you just make it official and move your stuff in?" Carolina nodded thoughtfully.

"Mhmm."

"It'd make rent easier."

"Mhmm."

"And I'd have a beautiful woman to fall asleep next to." She winked at Carolina and got a small laugh out of her.

"Tempting. I'll have to think about it. For now, I'll settle for being your hot freeloading roommate." Carolina winked back and they were both giggling by the time Kimball opened the car door. "Let's go get food, I'm starving."

* * *

 

Tucker had a bad habit of chewing his fingernails. He sometimes put nail polish on because it looked good and he hoped it would stop him from biting.

It didn't.

Now he just had a ruined manicure and a terrible taste in his mouth. Wash had stopped the car just outside Tucker's apartment and was opening the back door to take Ella back from Junior. Tucker got out and stretched, waiting for the other two as he fiddled with his keys by the front door. Wash came up the stairs cradling Ella like a baby and shielding her from the snow that had begun to fall. Junior was trailing behind him trying to catch snowflakes on his tongue.

Tucker held the door as they both came in after him, Wash wiping his boots before taking them off and Junior carelessly dropping them in the entryway. Tucker sighed and put them by the door with Wash's and his own. He took off his jacket and slipped past Wash into the kitchen to make popcorn. Tucker put a bag of popcorn in the microwave and sat down at the island to wait. Wash watched Tucker fiddle with his fingers, picking off the nail polish. "I didn't notice you painted your nails," he pointed out.

Tucker looked up at him. "Yeah, I do. Problem?" It came out sounding more defensive than he had intended.

Wash shrugged, looking around the room. "Not in the slightest. I do too sometimes. Though, not since I saw my sisters last." Wash noticed the bottles still sitting on the kitchen island and walked over to pick one up. "Would you... Paint them for me? It's been so long." He found a steel silver polish that shimmered with yellow tones.

Tucker, having forgotten about the popcorn, was willing to take any chance he got to just... _touch_  Wash's hands since he hadn't yet crossed the threshold to be able to do it for no reason. Wash had nice hands. Tucker nodded mutely and opened the bottle. Usually, he would have wash rest his hand on the table but no way was he doing that now. Tucker took Wash's hand in his and held it there, noticing how his fingers were just so slightly cold, while he brushed on the silver polish.

Junior wandered by and hopped up on the counter to reach the microwave and retrieve the forgotten popcorn. He didn't say word, and Tucker was reminded, once again, that he had the best son in the world.

"Hey Tucker?" Wash mumbled, trying to keep his voice down. "Mmm?" Tucker answered, letting go of Wash's left hand and taking his right. Wash went silent. Maybe they shouldn't talk now. No, he had Tucker's attention. It was now or never. He'd probably not be able to psych himself up for this again.

"Were you flirting with me last night?" His voice didn't waver, thank fuck. His hands probably were, though. Tucker used up all his reserves of self-control on _not_  fucking things up right then and there.

"Yeah, maybe." He didn't look at Wash. He didn't _think_  about looking at Wash. He didn't think about what kind of shocked expression Wash might be wearing or wh-

"Oh."

Tucker raised his eyebrow, still focused on Wash's hand. Oh?

Wash was over the moon. No, he was over _all_  the moons. It felt nice having someone flirt with him again. Even if he hadn't realized it until after, knowing someone thought he was cute made him feel like a giddy 14 year old girl. And not to mention it was Tucker of all people.

Tucker was cute. Tucker was... Well, he had a first name that sounded like an ancient deity, he had eyes that were _very_  easy to get lost in and he just might be everything Wash was looking for.

Tucker didn't like the silence Wash had descended into so he finished painting Wash's nails and gave his hand a swift kiss before hopping off his chair and going into the living room. "C'mon Wash, the movie's starting!" He called behind him.

Wash shook himself out of his trance and felt the lingering feeling of Tucker's kiss on his hand as he followed the sound of his voice to the living room. By the time they had joined Junior in the living room, he was already setting up his favorite movie, The Incredibles. Wash smiled fondly. He sat down with Ella and made little squealing noises every time she mewed while Tucker went to find blankets. Tucker came back and practically dumped all the blankets on top of Junior. Wash tucked himself in under the pile and Junior took one for himself, making a comfy spot on the floor.

"Tucker, c'mere, you look cold." Wash beckoned Tucker over, making space to his right and pulling Tucker right up against him. He laid the blankets across Tucker's legs and curled his arm around his shoulders. Tucker could feel Wash's heart beating. Wash could feel Tucker's breathing and he was just so warm. Wash was never that warm. Tucker was like his own little heater. It would be nice to be able to fall asleep next to him, all nice and warm. Wash chuckled to himself. Tucker elbowed him. "What?" he whispered.

Wash smiled. "Lavernius Tucker, personal heater." Tucker blushed. "What? Since when am I-" Wash gave him a look. "Come on, you're perfect." He grinned. "Travel size." Wash broke into a fit of laughter and he tried to keep quiet. Tucker stuck his tongue out. "I'm not going to BE your heater if you don't stop." Wash shook his head. "Okay okay, I'm sorry." It was Tucker's turn to grin. "Kiss and make up?" He asked, batting his eyelashes.

Wash reddened. "Not- no. You'd wake Ella." He looked down at her, sleeping on his lap curled up in a tiny gray ball. She looked so delicate. Tucker pouted. "Bummer," he mumbled, leaning into Wash and pulling his arm closer. "Guess I'll try later."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow! It's safe to say the EVERYONE has watched a movie now.
> 
> And all of Red Team is here! See, I'm not a complete failure! I acknowledge Lopez!
> 
> On another note, it snowed today. Not too much, but everything was considerably more festive.
> 
> Next chapter we can expect: Caboose does some painting and Simmons monologues! Wash finally gets around to redecorating and wow! Tucker plays his clarinet!
> 
> That's all, comment if you love me!


	12. And we're falling from too high up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wash has a lot going on, Carolina starts taking a big step and Church is just stressed all the time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is kind of early and kind of short, but things irl have been... Taking a toll on me. It's been an emotional few days, to say the least. I might not be able to update on Sunday and I might be late with the next one so... 
> 
> Don't forget to comment, it always brightens my day.

Wash came by on Sunday afternoon with a dish of lasagna and a bright smile. "Hey Tucker. I made too much last night and thought you might like this." He held up the dish and put in Tucker's hands. "And I believe you owe me a personal concert, no?" He gave Tucker an unavoidable stare paired with a grin full of teeth.

Tucker glanced behind him into his apartment. "Well uh, Junior's here so..." Wash rolled his eyes. "I meant an actual musical concert, Tucker. With your instrument." His eyes went wide. "Uh, I mean your- you know, I've been spending too much time with Donut." He sighed. "I think he starting to rub off on me- wait, that's worse." He dragged a hand over his face.

"You know what, may I just come in?" Tucker made an effort to wipe the smirk off his face and let Wash walk past him into the warmth of his apartment. Tucker closed the door behind him and took the lasagna into the kitchen. "This smells heavenly, Washington!" He shouted.

"I'm just going to eat some right now!" He didn't even wait for an answer as he cut himself a hefty slice and took it, on a plate, into the living room where he found Wash and Junior looking at pictures of Ella. "And here she is taking a nap on my violin case. She does that a lot, it's just precious."

Wash scrolled to another picture. "And this one is from this morning, when Donut came over with color swatches. She really liked the pale blues and grays." Tucker leaned over the back of the couch and peered over Wash's shoulder. "Watcha doin'?" He watched as Wash flicked through his camera roll. It was mostly pictures of plants and Ella. "Dude, do you have any sexy pics of yourself?" He asked, waggling his eyebrows at Wash.

Wash turned off his phone and lifted his chin defiantly. "Even if I did, you'd have to try a lot harder to get me to show you." Tucker shrugged. "Too bad. I guess you'll never see mine then." He gave Wash a wink and took a bite of the lasagna. "This shit is amazing, dude. You need to cook for me more often." He made his point by jabbing his fork at Wash.

Wash smirked. "I'll make you some more if you decide to play for me." He was still wearing the nail polish from yesterday. It brought out the color of Wash's eyes when he brought his hand up to trace the scar on his chin. And the bleach in his hair was starting to fade. Tucker had eaten his lasagna within two minutes and made Junior go get some too. "You haven't eaten lunch yet, buddy," was his excuse. It was really just a ploy to get Junior out of the room.

"Okay," Tucker said, dragging his clarinet case out from the closet. "Let's do this. I'm going to play the song for my job. You know, the one for the hipster indie film?" Wash nodded. "I'm sure anything you play'll sound fine," he assured Tucker. "If you say so. I read over the sheet music and to be honest, it's utter shit. Everything's in the wrong key. Like, they wanted it to be upbeat, so they used the most generic major key, G. It sounds like shit. Here, listen." Tucker cleared his throat and put the clarinet to his lips.

As he played, Wash went from being entranced to uncomfortable. "Okay okay, stop. It sounds like a kid's cartoon. And not the good ones. The ones they make memes out of." Tucker snorted. "Preach. So here's what I'm thinking. E♭ Major. It's edgier, just bordering on every other indie song I've ever heard, but it sounds so much better while still being upbeat. Listen." Tucker tried again, this time sounding exactly like his descriptions. Wash was impressed by his skill to describe how music sounds. "That is better. But I thought you were going to play something classic."

He crossed his legs and did his best 'snooty critic' impression. "You lack an appreciation for the classical masters," he said, distorting his voice in a mocking way. Tucker snickered. "You sound like my old music teacher. He was a total ass." Wash smiled fondly. "Funny, I had an ass for a music teacher too. What a coincidence." Tucker rested his clarinet on his legs while he browsed his phone for classical sheet music. "You should re-bleach your hair. It's fading," he mentioned, trying to sound casual.

Wash ran a hand through his hair. "You think? I was just going to let it grow out, go back to its natural brown. And maybe a beard." Tucker choked on his own tongue. Wash with a beard? Holy shit. How did he know?

"How did you know?" Tucker demanded. Wash stopped with his hand halfway through his hair. His eyes held a hint of panic. "What? How did I know what?" Tucker waved his hands around. "That I have a thing for beards! Hell, you probably know I have a thing for hands too! Shit." He frowned, trying to remember if he'd let anything else slip.

Wash somehow managed to force out a strained laugh. "I didn't until you pointed it out." He looked down at his left hand, the phantom sensation of Tucker's lips still there even after a day. Was that why he did it? Did he really like Wash's hands? There was a thick icy silence in the room and Tucker looked just about ready to bludgeon himself with his Clarinet, he was so tense.

"You probably want to know how my meeting with Donut went, right?" Wash asked, shifting the conversation and letting Tucker breathe. They could always come back to the topic of one another's kinks later. Tucker cleared his throat. "That depends. Did it go well?"

Wash nodded. "Very well. In fact, as of tomorrow, I will have a fully furnished apartment which sticks to a color palette and still represents me as a person. Or at least, that's what Donut said. He also said that Doc asked him to be his boyfriend." Tucker put his clarinet away and shifted in his seat to look at Wash. "Details," he demanded. Wash smiled. "Well, it was earlier this morning..."

* * *

 

Wash shuffled to the door and opened it roughly, if only to stop the incessant knocking. "What?" He asked, with desperation. Donut greeted him with a fully awake smile. He was wearing a pale pink button-down patterned with tiny eggplants. "Good morning, Wash! Are you ready to redecora-" Donut glanced behind Wash and into his apartment.

"Hehe, oh wow. You really weren't kidding about the gray." Donut looked back at Wash like he was going to attack. "How about we look at some... Different color palettes, hmm?" Wash wasn't awake enough to argue, so he let Donut in and closed the door behind them. Ella hopped off the couch and paced around Donut's feet.

"Ooh, is this Ella?" Donut squealed. He lifted Ella up off the floor and held her up at eye level. "She's so much cuter in person. Those pictures you sent don't do her justice." Wash rubbed the back of his neck. "About that. Why are you here so early?" He made his way into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee for himself and Donut.

"Oh, you know. I had a hunch that this would take a while so I wanted to come early." He sat down at the kitchen table and opened up his messenger bag. From inside, he pulled out a binder and an expensive furniture catalogue. Wash looked mildly alarmed when Donut opened up the binder and revealed neat rows of color co-ordinating fabric swatches arranged in groups of four or five. Donut certainly had an eye for color.

"I would have brought all my binders but I didn't want to blow my load so soon! So I just have the gray binder. Well, one of them. But I though you'd like this one more. It has more muted palettes. Here's one with blues, one with greens, one with pinks and this one reminds me of the suit you wore for the showcase." Donut pointed out the Palettes while Ella made her way onto the counter.

Wash shook his head at her. "Ella, baby girl, you can't be on the counter. I eat here." He picked her up and put her down in his lap while he listened to Donut go on about different lighting options. Donut pushed his binder to the side and opened up the catalogue, his eyes shining with glee.

"So what I was thinking is this. A few fluffy pillows here, and of course a matching rug. And maybe this lamp? Ooh, I love this lamp. It would look nice right over there." Wash was only half-listening at that point, having started to think about getting a few more plants. Wash liked plants. They were soothing in much the same way that Ella was. Plus, it would brighten up the room.

"Could we add some plants? All over?" Wash asked, getting up to fetch his coffee. Donut thought for a moment as he watched Wash pour an obscene amount of cream and sugar into his coffee. "I suppose. I do have a color palette that would compliment the greens. And I know this shop downtown that sells these chartreuse pillows. A _nd_  it would look great with my sheep wool rug, the one that Frankie wont let me put in the apartment."

And there it was again, the excited glint in Donut's eyes as he planned out everything. Wash stood and admired him, sipping his coffee until he remembered he should probably get dressed. Donut was scribbling out a list of items he needed and the shops that sold them. "What kind of plants do you want, Wash? How much sun does that room get? Are you opposed to a bright yellow ceiling lamp?" he shot question after question at Wash, who answered quickly and firmly.

"Any kind of plants, really. Not much sun. I'd actually like a bright yellow lamp." Wash glanced at the clock and saw it was almost half past nine and he hadn't eaten anything. Unless coffee counted.

Nope. Nope, it did not.

Wash opened up his fridge and was greeted by three dishes of lasagna. He remembered vaguely getting up in the middle of the night and stress-cooking them after he awoke with the vivid memory of a dream. One that involved _Tucker_.

It involved quite a lot of Tucker, in fact.

Donut noticed Wash drag all three dishes out of the fridge with just as puzzled a look on his face. "Are you doing to eat all that?" He asked, genuinely interested. Wash was quick to shake his head. "No, of course not. I just... Happened to make too much." His excuse was weak and they both knew it. Donut tapped his finger on the marble countertop. "Do you mind if I take one back for me and Frankie to share?" Wash shrugged. "No, of course not. Take it. Please." He pushed the dish over to Donut. "By the way... Anything new happen? I heard you went on a double-date with Grif and Simmons." Wash smiled mischievously. "How's it going with them?"

Donut slammed his hands on the counter. "You would not believe what happened! It has nothing to do with Grif and Simmons, they'll be fine." Wash leaned forward. "Go on?" Donut looked about to burst. "Frankie asked me to be his boyfriend!" Donut made a high-pitched squeal which had Ella scampering around in confusion.

Wash was probably gaping. "He- just out of the blue like that? What happened to your plan to serenade him?" Wash frowned, kind of disappointed. He would have liked to hear the romantic tale of how Donut serenaded his boyfriend with his voice. Donut held up a finger. "That's where you're wrong. I can still do that. See, we've crossed the threshold into dating but neither of us have said the 'L' word yet. When I'm ready, I'll use that as an excuse to sing to him." Donut smirked.

He had it all under control, obviously. By the end of the hour, Donut had gathered up his things and was ready to go. "I'll be back tomorrow with everything. So get up early, because I'm about to fill you up!" Wash blinked. "You mean my apartment?" he asked, stroking Ella's head. Donut cocked his head slightly. "Huh? Oh, yeah that. Bye now, I'll see you tomorrow!" Donut waved with one hand, the other holding the lasagna, and headed out of Wash's apartment. Strangely, he felt a bit like a mom, giving out dishes of lasagna to friends.

* * *

 

"So can I come over tomorrow?" Tucker asked, a strangely innocent smile gracing his lips. Wash leaned away from him. "Whoa, take me out to dinner first," he joked. Tucker stopped smiling. "Okay. Would you like to go out to dinner tonight?" He asked, completely serious.

Wash's own smile dropped from his face yet he didn't miss a beat before giving his answer. "Yes I would."

Tucker leaned forward, so close that he could feel Wash's breath on his face. "Okay," he whispered. "I'll pick you up at seven."

"Eww, no kissing!" Junior shouted. He was standing with a plate of lasagna and a blatantly disgusted look on his face. Wash jerked away from Tucker, his face reddening. "We weren't kissing!" he said defensively. Tucker pouted to himself. Maybe they would have if Junior hadn't interrupted.

"I'm just gonna- I should go. I have... Things I need to do," Wash stated as he stood up from the couch and stared towards the door. "I'll see you tonight." and with a hasty wave, he opened the door and left. Junior came and sat down next to him. "You are soooo in love," he said casually. Tucker nodded.

"Yep."

Junior took a bite of his food. "And you're really obvious about it." Tucker put his head in his hands.

"Yep."

* * *

 

Dancing was easier now. Carolina felt more at ease, especially when she danced with Kimball. Ever since the evening of Wash's showcase she and Kimball had been more in-sync with each other. They didn't care to keep a polite, professional distance between them.

That certainly helped their dancing improve. Not to mention Carolina didn't care as much about being the perfect little dancer. Carolina was running through a routine with Kimball in the dance studio. Today, they weren't alone. No hot make outs on the floor, Carolina lamented. She recognized two of Kimball's students. Jensen and Palomo, she remembered. Palomo was stretching at the bar by the window chatting with Jensen, still benched with her sprained ankle.

Carolina caught Kimball's fond gaze. Watching her students taking a serious interest in what she taught was nice for her. Carolina grabbed Kimball's wrist and pulled her over. She gave her a borderline pleading look. "Let's try that jump again," she insisted. Kimball looked paralyzed. "You mean the one where you have to catch me?" she asked.

Carolina nodded. "Yep. We need to get it down to the tee," she argued. Kimball shook her head and twisted her wrist out of Carolina's grasp. "Nope. No. Remember what happened the last time you tried that?" Carolina winced. "Ah. Right. Maybe I should let _you_  catch me then. I doubt you'd bring us both to the floor." Kimball punched her arm playfully. "That's because my arms are amazing. You said yourself." She started backing away from Carolina. "Okay. Start running, I'll catch you," she called from the other side of the studio.

Jensen and Palomo stopped what they were doing and stared. Carolina breathed in slowly and fixed her footing. Then, with a little hop, she started sprinting full-speed at Kimball. She launched herself into the air. Jensen thought she looked like a gazelle, flying through the air with grace and precision. If only she had brought her phone, she could have gotten a picture. Kimball had just as much precision. She caught Carolina around the waist and barely even flinched. After a second, when they were both sure she wouldn't let Carolina fall, kimball lowered her to the ground and earned a quick peck on the cheek.

"That was perfect," she mumbled. "Or, as close as it could be." Jensen was trying as hard as she could to hold in her squeal of delight. "Do it again! I wanna get a picture of you two! My gosh, you look so cute!" She was hopping up and down, despite her sprained ankle and Palomo was attempting to get her to sit down. Carolina smirked. "Was it really worthy of a photo?" she asked even as she walked over to hand her phone to Jensen. "Make sure it's a good one," she noted. Jensen nodded so hard Carolina was afraid she might snap her neck.

She didn't even know if that was physically possible.

Kimball stretched out her arms and widened her stance while Carolina headed back to the other side of the studio. Palomo and Jensen were both sitting in rapt silence, having forgotten whatever they were doing before. Jensen was holding Carolina's phone, poised for the perfect photo. Carolina limbered up to execute another perfect leap. She did, and Kimball caught her just as effortlessly. She made it look much better with the huge smile on her face, one that Carolina mirrored.

Jensen had taken about six good pictures of them. Carolina held aloft by Kimball, her arms spread like she was flying. The Carolina, it almost felt like she was. Carolina sent the picture to Kimball's phone as well as Wash and York. She stifled a laugh when York replied within seconds.

York: _I'm wearing my gold suit to your wedding, Lina._

When Carolina checked the clock next, it was 3:47 and Kimball, at Palomo's enthusiastic request, was trying to teach him how to do a midair triple-spin. It was something they hadn't learned in class and he was secretly trying to put together a choreographed set to impress Jensen. Kimball eventually limped back over and sat down next to Carolina.

Palomo had kicked her in the shins at least three times (on accident), but was making progress. He could successfully do _two_  spins without losing his balance. "We should go see a movie," Kimball suggested. She was checking show times on her phone. Carolina groaned. "Please no. We just marathoned the Fast and the Furious, remember?" Kimball shrugged.

"What can I say, movie theaters are great make-out spots," she pointed out. Carolina went red. "If you want to make-out, all you have to do is ask," she mumbled. She didn't want to speak too loudly. After all, Jensen was still across the studio watching Palomo perfect his pirouettes and Carolina was pretty sure she knew... Things.

Kimball gave her a side-glance. "Let's go then," she whispered. "Good job today Palomo, I'll see you Friday. You too, Jensen. Have a good one!" she shouted.

Kimball gave the two a wave and followed an eager Carolina out the door and down the parking lot to her car. Carolina barely let Kimball open the door before pulling her down. "Just ask" she mumbled with her lips barely touching Kimball's. Kimball chuckled. "I'll keep that in mind."

As far as make-out spots went, cars definitely beat studio floors.

* * *

 

Simmons was sitting on the edge of the stage where his acting group met up. In his hands he held three hastily stapled sheets of paper. It was the fourth draft of his fear monologue. He kicked his feet anxiously as he waited for Grif to arrive. Simmons wanted to see how Grif's cello music sounded with his annoying voice projecting through the room. Yes, even he thought his voice was annoying... Occasionally.

"Holy shit, Simm. Sorry I'm late." Grif burst through the doors and nearly startled Simmons off the stage. He steadied his heartbeats while Grif hauled his cello up the steps and onto the stage. "Kai wouldn't shut up after I told her you stayed over. Now she's convinced she should move out," Grif muttered. "I couldn't do that to her. She couldn't support herself... And it's cold out, and no one wants to-"

Grif stopped himself mid-rant and dragged a hand through his thick brown hair. He wasn't wearing it in a ponytail like he usually did. Simmons liked him with his hair down. He looked- he looked hot.

Simmons stared as Grif sighed heavily. He took out his cello and looked around for a chair. "Do you have something I could sit in? I hate playing standing up," Grif mumbled. Simmons jumped to his feet. "Oh, yes!" he said, a little too loud. He hopped off the stage and got a folding chair from the storage closet.

It made a jarring sound when he picked it up with his metal arm.

Simmons unfolded it and set it gently on the stage next to Grif, who nodded with appreciation and lowered himself unceremoniously into the chair. "Okay. How do you want to do this? Am I going to play constantly or..." Grif left the question open and raised his eyebrows. Simmons shrugged. "I'm not musically inclined, I don't know. Just... Do whatever you think _won't_  clash with my grating voice." He chuckled at his own self-deprecating joke. Grif didn't laugh.

"Your voice isn't grating... Okay, maybe sometimes but it's cute. Like when you get embarrassed and it gets all squeaky." Simmons might have torn the pages in his hands. Just a little. In his defense, Grif's comment caught him off guard. Why did he keep on calling Simmons cute, anyway? Simmons zoned out and didn't hear what else Grif said.

"Simm? Simmons? Hey, snap out of it, fuckface!" Grif dragged his bow across the string of his cello in the most unbearable way possible. The sound, screeching and dry, made Simmons yelp. He did get shaken out of his thoughts though, so Grif considered it a win. "Finally. You were totally spaced out, Simm." Grif readjusted his bow, "Let's do this," he added.

Simmons nodded. He turned his eyes to the paper in his hands. The paper was definitely torn, but it was still readable. Readable if his _damn hands_  would stop shaking. He was just... Ranting about one of his stupid fears to Grif. It was nothing. It was fine.

Simmons cleared his throat and tried to get his hands to sit still.

Grif didn't understand most of what Simmons said. It was so flowery and he used the vocabulary of a medieval king, but he could tell Simmons _really_  didn't like snakes. He interjected with several lingering notes on his cello here and there, giving focus to the poignant words he said. Grif didn't want to overpower the monologue with his music.

He wanted to let Simmons speak. His voice wasn't annoying. It sounded nice when he was projecting it across the room and it reverberated around them.

* * *

 

Carolina stood in her apartment with a half-full box of books on the floor at her feet. She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. "Wash. Wash? Stop talking so fast, I can't underst-" She pulled the phone away from her ear and yelled into the earpiece. "David!" Wash went silent. "Thank you. Now calm _the hell_  down and tell me what's going on at a normal speed please," Carolina said. She went back to packing boxes.

Wash inhaled slowly.  _"Okay. Tucker may have asked me out to dinner and I don't have anything nice to wear. I need your help,"_ he said.

Carolina was silent for a moment. "I appreciate you coming to me for something like this, but shouldn't you ask Donut? He actually gives a damn what you wear. I think you'd look fine in whatever." Carolina probably thought she was helping. In her defense, she wasn't the most fashionably inclined. Her wardrobe was simple and practical, save for that dress she bought for Wash's showcase.

Wash made a whining noise. " _I knowwww, but I already bothered Donut about my apartment."_ Carolina groaned. "Then go see if Church has something that fits you. I know you still have that blue shirt of his that I gave you." It was Wash's turn to be silent.

 _"I don't want to go ask him, he'll laugh at me,"_ Wash mumbled. Carolina scoffed at him. "Church is an ass, he'll laugh at anyone. I'm sorry I can't help you, I'm trying to pack my things. Love you, Wash. You'll be fine."

Wash barely got a 'goodbye' in before Carolina ended the call. She didn't want it to seem like she didn't care. She did. She cared so much about Wash, but right now she just wanted to be able to focus on herself for a while. And by that she meant pack up her shit and quietly move in with Kimball.

Wash grabbed his coat and headed over to Church's new place. He didn't think Church would ever willingly move to the suburbs, but if it was for Caboose's sake he would. And then make up a half-assed excuse so he wouldn't ever have to admit that he cared.

Church answered his door with a cup of coffee in his hand and a severe lack of the glasses he always wore. Wash waited a moment while Church squinted and tried to tell who it was he was looking at.

"... Wash? The fuck do you want?" He asked, his voice still slurred from sleep. Figures, Wash thought somewhat bitterly, he'd be the one to sleep in until the afternoon. Wash straightened his shoulders. "I'm going on a date and you're my last resort for some kind of decent clothing," he said. Church's eyebrows entered low-earth orbit. "Well its about fucking time, Wash. Get in here," Church mumbled.

He turned around to try and hide the smirk spreading across his face. "Caboose is upstairs painting his walls. I'll find you something that won't make you look like shit." Wash nodded slowly and followed Church up the stairs. He stopped by Caboose's door and knocked. "'Boose, you in there?" he asked. All was silent.

"Caboose?" Church asked again with a hint of concern. Nothing. Church opened the door and peeked inside. The walls were clean and no one was inside. The pillow fort from yesterday was intact. Church came back into the hallway with furrowed brows. He shrugged and made his way to his own bedroom door. "Weird. He said he was going to paint the wa-"

Wash stopped. Church had gone silent as soon as he opened the door. He peeked over Church's head and suppressed a gasp.

Church's room was, relative to its normal state, a mess. Caboose had been thoughtful enough to drape a dropcloth over the bed, but the walls were a lost cause. It was mostly sky blue paint streaked with swirling patterns of dark cobalt. There were a few stylized flowers here and there as well as two tiny figures. One light blue with angry eyebrows and the other sporting a huge smile. "I thought you meant your own room, Caboose." He rubbed his temples and let out a long-suffering sigh.

"Christ, this week has been stressful." Church downed the rest of his coffee in one gulp and handed it to Wash, who fumbled for a moment but got a stable grip. Caboose hadn't stopped painting. He had a pair of dark blue headphones on and was bobbing his head to whatever music Church had on his old iPod.

He went over to his dresser and opened one of the drawers. "Fuck, okay what do you want? I don't have anything sexy, so don't ask. I don't have anything red either," he said, mostly to himself. "Ooh, I have this. You're into gray, right? That's like, your thing. Here." He tossed a gray button-up at Wash.

Wash caught it with his free hand and put Church's coffee cup on the nightstand. Church glanced back at Wash. "Where the fuck are my glasses?" he demanded. Wash looked around, eventually spotting them ontop of one of the pillows. He handed them to Church.

"Ah, better. Now I can see your stupid face. And..." He looked around the room, zeroing in on the tiny painted figures above his bed.

"Shit, is that me?" He asked. Caboose turned around and took off his headphones. "Hmmm?" he asked. Church pointed. Caboose nodded. "Yep. It's you and me," he said happily. Church nodded, seemingly in a daze, and went back to rummaging through his drawers.

"Your hair's a mess, Wash. It's long as fuck," he mentioned. Wash shrugged. "I'm not cutting it."

Church sighed. "Well, you're sure as hell not going out with that rats-nest sticking out of your head. Put this on too. Tucker'll probably think it's cute or whatever." Church walked over and put a simple black headband on Wash's head. It kept his hair down and upon looking in the mirror, did look kind of cute.

"Wait- how did you know my date was Tucker?" Wash asked in disbelief. Church shrugged. "It's not my fault Carolina confides in me. 24/7, might I add." Wash shook his head. "And you're not more surprised?"

Church shrugged. "Not really. You two are painfully obvious. I just hope I don't have to hear about it when Tucker and I go out." Wash cocked his head to the side. "You guys go out?" Church shoved his hand deep in his pockets and shrugged again. "Yeah? We're like... Drinking buddies or something. It helps with the constant stress I'm under because of _him_."

Church gestured to Caboose, still painting and humming off-key to his music. Wash fiddled with the soft fabric of the shirt in his hands. He didn't really know what else to say. Church broke the silence instead. "You're welcome for the shirt. I want this one back when you're done."

He beckoned Wash to follow him out. "If you and Tucker fuck, I don't want to hear anything because frankly, your love life doesn't interest me," he opened the front door for Wash. "And I'm sure he'll love you. Hell, I'm sure he already does." Church smirked at Wash's stunned expression and closed the door in his face.

Wash was left in the cold with no other option than to go back home. Ella probably missed him, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will have much more Docnut and Grimmons. Wash and Tucker will finally start doing things too.
> 
> Comments fuel me.
> 
> I don't proofread my fics as much as I should so tell me if you spot any mistakes.


	13. But maybe we'll survive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sunday night. Wash and Tucker go on a real date, Grif and Simmons take a big step and Caboose's cookies are sweet and salty, just like Church.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ANOTHER UPDATE? Before the set time? WHAAAAAAT? It turns out, I don't give a shit about my own update days. What else is new?
> 
> What are summaries? This chapter is heavy Grimmons and Tuckington. That's all you need to know.

Simmons was somewhat shaken after practicing his monologue. He managed to give Grif a few words of praise before he had to get his mind off snakes. Taking about them for an hour tended to put them in the forefront of his mind.

"We need to go to Donut's," he said to Grif, looking up from his phone. Grif, who was somehow fitting his cello into the trunk of his tiny car, looked very confused. "Why are we going to Donut's? Why would we ever willingly go to Donut's?" he asked, slamming the door closed. Simmons pointed to the text conversation on his phone. "Because he's got some juicy gossip and I could use something to take my mind off those fucking snakes." He shivered slightly.

Grif shrugged. "That's fair. But I'm not staying there any longer than I have to." He got into the car and leaned over to open the passenger side. "C'mon." Simmons got in and put on his seatbelt. He sat silently while Grif turned up the radio and played whatever was on. It wasn't far to Donut's, but neither of them was going to walk there, especially with the huge snow clouds hanging over the city. Donut was overjoyed to see them.

"Hi guys! Come in, come in!" He beckoned them in, holding the door wide open. It was warm inside. Donut sat down in the living room with them both. "I hear Simmons needs some distraction?" He raised an eyebrow. Grif and Simmons both nodded. "His hands have been shaking ever since he did his monologue," Grif pointed out. Donut nodded solemnly. "I see. Well, nothing helps take my mind off things like a good juicy fill-up!" He clapped is hands together, ignoring the blatant grimaces from Grif and Simmons.

"So you know how Sarge has been rarely seen ever since his last performance?" Grif raised his eyebrow. "No? We saw him at my showcase _and_  he showed up at my house with a tiny fucking robot!" He threw up his hands, reminded of the mostly ruined Saturday.

Donut snapped his fingers. He leaned forward in his seat. "Aha! A robot! Tell me, did it look expensive?" He steepled his hands in a way that made him look like a psychologist.  Simmons shook his head. He shifted in his seat, trying to think back to what Lopez had looked like. "No, it looked homemade," he said. Grif nodded in agreement. Donut frowned. "Okay... Were the parts expensive?" He tried. Simmons shrugged. "Maybe. Ooh, but it was sentient." He ignored Grif's mumbled "No, it wasn't."

"Well that proves my theory," Donut exclaimed. He waited knowingly for their response. Simmons gave in first. "What theory?" He asked. Grif face palmed. Donut's face lit up. "Glad you asked. Rumor has it that Sarge is dating a super rich CEO from upstate. I saw them together once. This guy was _tall_. He had long brown hair in a ponytail and a suit that looked like it cost more than Simmons' arm. And he was ripped. He also had a scar on his face and was trying to hide it with makeup."

Simmons scrunched up his face in confusion. "What."

Grif shook his head. He looked borderline annoyed. "No way. Sarge? With a sugar daddy? I don't buy it," he said, crossing his arms. Donut shrugged. "Well it's true. He has a pretty sugar daddy boyfriend and I'm happy for him." His face melted into a serene smile. From his seat next to Donut, Doc finally piped up. "I saw him too. Donut nearly spit out his coffee when the guy gave Sarge a kiss on the hand. Like a princess. It was... Weird. And Sarge-"

Donut interrupted, the telltale shimmer in his eye."Sarge was smiling! It melted my heart!" Grif did a double-take. "Wait, when did Doc get here?" Doc's shoulders slumped. "I've been here the whole time. I live here. I've always lived here... I'm the one who pays rent." He lifted his hands half-heartedly.

"Because you have a steady income, sweetie." Donut patted Doc's leg affectionately. Doc smiled. "I'm not complaining. As long as you keep living here." Donut smiled back. het got up and situated himself in Doc's lap. "Awww, I'm not going anywhere. Not as long as I have a beautiful boyfriend." Doc gave Donut a kiss on the cheek and Grif thought it was the perfect moment to leave.

"God, you two are giving me cavities. I'm leaving. You wanna come, Simms?" He got up suddenly, dislodging Simmons from where he had unconsciously begun to lean against him. Simmons sat up. "Sure. I'm not thinking about snakes anymore." he said, smiling. Grif smirked. "Well you just did."

"Fuck" Simmons breathed. "Well, it doesn't matter." He held up his hands to Grif. They were steady. He wasn't shaking like before. Grif took ahold of Simmons' prosthetic and pulled him up from the couch. He waved to Donut, who was being smothered in kisses by Doc (ugh, too cute) and headed to the door. "Thanks for the distraction," Simmons called out before closing the door and stepping into the biting cold evening. "Do you just want to go back to my place?" Grif mumbled.

Simmons shrugged. "I dunno. Do you... Think your sister'll be there?" Grif fumbled with his keys. "I- maybe. She has work in the morning, so I bet she'll be there trying to get some sleep," Grif said, knowing full well that she was babysitting Junior for the evening. Simmons nodded. "Okay. Let's not disturb her then. How about we hang out at my apartment instead?" he asked.

Grif didn't get his keys in the ignition the first two times he tried. "As long as you have food, I'm in," he answered with a shrug, trying his best to not sound overly enthusiastic about it. Simmons grinned. "I'll make something special for you then," he said. The drive over was almost as silent as the one to Donut's. Simmons had to direct Grif every once in a while, but they mostly just cast glances at each other.

Grif reached out to pick up his phone at a red light, but Simmons swatted his hand away. "Don't text and drive, Grif. Do you want to get in an accident?" Grif shrugged. "I've done it before," was his sorry excuse. Simmons frowned. "Don't do it anymore." His tone was surprisingly serious. "Awww, are you worried about me, Cinnamon?" Grif teased.

"What?" That was the cutest nickname Simmons had ever heard.

Grif tensed. He flicked his eyes over Simmons' confused face. His glasses were reflecting the traffic lights. He saw the bright red turn to green and he focused back on the road. "I'm hungry," he mumbled. Grif was finally able to check his phone once he parked outside Simmons' apartment. There was one new text from Tucker.

Tucker: _Look what Wash the hot violinist gave me ;P_

There was a picture of what was left of a dish of lasagna. Grif groaned. Why did Tucker always send him pictures of food he couldn't eat? Simmons unlocked his door and headed in, trailed closely by Grif. "It turns out Wash made lasagna and didn't give me any," he grumbled. Simmons looked over at the picture Grif showed him. It _did_  look really good. He turned away and headed to the kitchen to wash his hands.

"Well too bad, I'm making chicken. I think you'll like it." Grif hummed to himself while he struggled with getting his boots off. "Well I do like chicken," he called. He could hear Simmons giggling. Grif sat down at Simmons' tiny kitchen island and watched him move about, grabbing all kinds of spices and ingredients.

He hummed a tune to himself while he worked. "Why did you decide to wear your hair down?" Grif was so lost in thought, just watching Simmons cook, he almost missed the question. He took a moment to make sure he didn't say something stupid.

_Because I wanted to see if you'd like it? Because I think it makes me look hot? Because I just wanted to?_

"Because I couldn't find a hairband." He wasn't completely lying... But to be fair, he hadn't exactly _looked_  for a hairband either. Simmons put down the knife he was using and turned his head to look at Grif. "I like it when it's down. It's nice..." He quickly turned back to slicing tomatoes, "and fluffy." Simmons focused intensely on making sure he didn't slice his remaining fingers. Grif self-consciously brought his hands up to his hair. It was fluffy.

He ran his fingers through his thick locks until he noticed Simmons staring. Realizing he had been caught, Simmons scrambled for something to say. "Uh- Come wash your hands... You can chop- the, uh... Broccoli," he mumbled, almost tripping over his words. Fuck, Grif's hair looked even better now. It was all... Smoothed everywhere. It looked like sex hair. Except it wasn't. But Simmons maybe sort of kinda wanted it to be. Was that weird? It was probably weird.

Grifdutifully scrubbed his hands and took the knife Simmons gave him. He cut into the thick stalk of broccoli with a nice, crisp sound. It was fresh. Grif liked when his food was fresh. Unless it was junk food, then it didn't matter. "So how do-" Grif began, but as soon as it came out of his both, he didn't know how to finish. Why was small talk so difficult? In fact, why did he even have to talk? Simmons seemed content to just sit in silence.

"How do I what?" Simmons asked, looking up from the pan he was putting in the oven. Grif shook his head. His hair moved as if it was weightless. "Nothing," Grif mumbled. Simmons rolled up his sleeves and moved to take the cutting board and knife from Grif. He had barely chopped any broccoli. "If you don't want to help, get out of my kitchen," Simmons joked. Grif stepped back with his hands up. "Okay okay, just say so. I'll get out."

He walked back over to the island and took his previous seat. Simmons looked disappointed. "It was a joke," he mumbled as he got to work chopping. "I like when you're... Over here. It feels less lonely." Grif could have sworn his heart stopped for a second. That couldn't be good for his health. But my god, Simmons was lonely. That was much more important that any impending heart attack.

Grif got up from his seat again just as quickly as he had sat down and sidled up to Simmons. He caught the beginnings of a smile on his face before he wiped it off and dumped the broccoli into a pan and listened to it sizzle. "I love that sound," Grif said over the soft staticy noise of the sautéing broccoli. Simmons let his smile show this time. "I do too. It's soothing." He still looked tense, despit the smile he wore.

Grif had a stupid idea. A horribly horrible, incredibly idiotic idea that might very well get him slapped. But things were still tense and Simmons was lonely. There was only one thing that made Grif feel better when he was sad. Well, two things, but one of those things was already being made. So it was up to the other thing, paired with Grif's inherently caring personality to make Simmons feel less lonely. That was how he ended up with his arms around Simmons' chest from behind in a big hug. He was trying to give Simmons at least a semblance of mobility so he didn't burn the food.

Simmons' breath caught in his throat. He turned slowly to look at Grif and got a face full of hair. A face full of impossibly soft hair that smelled a little like coconut. Holy shit. Simmons didn't even notice the tiny tendrils of smoke coming from the pan. He was lost in the warmth, the tenderness, the surprising delicacy with which Grif held him. Simmons leant into his embrace and let the tension leave him.

He might not ever admit it, but hugs were something he didn't get nearly enough of. He didn't think about it often, but he wasn't exactly the kind of person that looked... Huggable. He was thin, wiry, and he had a fucking _metal arm_. He probably looked like he'd break if someone tried to hug him. Grif didn't seem to care.

He still held Simmons like he was fragile, but isn't everyone?

"Thanks," Simmons mumbled into Grif's hair. He got a hum in reply. It was rumbling, like warm thunder. Simmons felt it against his back. Grif was so warm. Then it was over. Grif let go of him and Simmons almost fell over. He was suddenly cold all over, yearning for Grif's warm hug again. He started to protest when he realized there was a thick haze of smoke everywhere. Grif had turned off the burner and was trying to something about the charred remains of the broccoli. Whoops. Simmons had completely forgotten about that.

Stupid. Why did he have to get caught up in the soft, fuzzy, warm-

"Aaahhh! What?" He snapped back to reality and was greeted by Grif shouting at the ceiling. His sprinkler system had gone off. Of course, there was so much smoke everywhere. The sprinklers showered them with water relentlessly. Grif's beautiful hair was getting matted down, Simmons' glasses were fogging up. It was, in short, what most people would chock up to be a complete disaster.

Grif thought otherwise. There was a huge smile on his face and he was dissolving into a fit of laughter. Simmons stood rooted to the spot, shocked beyond words. "Holy fuck, this is amazing!" Grif was still shaking with laughter, but he grabbed both of Simmons' hands and dragged him under the sprinkler. "I've got to say, Simm, this is the best visit I've ever had to anyone's house." He twirled Simmons around once. "And I've been to a lot of houses," he added with a wink. It could have been a wink. It also could have been Grif trying to get water out of his eye.

Simmons started to smile too. He took off his glasses and put them on the counter, tilting his head up to the spray of water. There was a mechanical beeping somewhere, but it sounded so far away Simmons didn't want to deal with it. He just wanted to be stupid for a moment, standing under a sprinkler with Grif.

Grif, who had nice hair and gave great hugs.

Grif, who tried to stop him from slipping on the slick floor. Grif, who followed him to the ground. Grif, who laughed with him while they both sat on the wet floor as water showered down around them. Grif, who was trying to say something over the cacophony. Simmons cocked his head. "What?" he shouted. Grif got closer. "Simmons. Cinnamon. Can-" He fidgeted with his hair. Simmons was fairly sure that nickname wasn't accidental this time. He got closer still. "What did you say?" he asked again, softer this time.

"Can I kiss you?"

Simmons stared. He was short-circuiting again. Like he always did in situations like this. It took a while for him to regain control of his mouth. "I- yes? Maybe?" He said. "If you want to." Grif smiled, tentative and tender and impossibly soft. "Yes, I want to. That's why I asked, you dork," he said.

Simmons had kissed plenty of people before. Well, maybe four. None of them had been special. None of them had stuck around. Grif was different. Simmons knew he probably sounded like a shitty teenage girl but it was true. Even with the taste of chlorinated water between them, even with the incessant beeping in the background and the acrid smell of smoke, even if it had been a while and he may or may not have forgotten what it was like. It was nice. Grif seemed startled for a fraction of a second when Simmons started to run his fingers through his hair - it felt soft, even when it was drenched.

It didn't last long though. He regained his composure and had Simmons up against a cabinet before he could stay 'what the fuck'. Everything was warm and soft and perfect. Grif broke the kiss for a moment and let them breathe. He rested his forehead against Simmons'. "This got so out of hand," he whispered. Simmons couldn't help but snort. "What tipped you off? Was it the fire alarm?" he joked. His arms were still wrapped around Grif's neck, their foreheads still pressed together. Simmons had one leg hooked around Grif's thigh.

"I should probably turn that off," Simmons whispered as an after-thought. Grif shook his head. "Not yet, that was like, ten seconds," he argued. He had a point, Simmons thought as Grif moved in for another kiss. "You're beautiful" he muttered, his mouth against Simmons' cheek. His red hair was flattened against his head, the deep blush he wore made his freckles stand out. His green eyes shimmered in the dim light. Maybe he was.

Simmons giggled as Grif tickled his neck with his warm breath. "Wow. First cute, then adorable, now beautiful?" Grif hummed. "Every single one of those words describes you." Simmons smiled to himself. Damn, it felt good to be called that. Cute, adorable, _beautiful_. He pushed himself away from Grif reluctantly and stood up. "Well, I'm glad I'm all those things," he said as he dragged a stool over to turn off the fire alarm.

* * *

 

Out of all the restaurants Tucker could have chosen, it wasn't the worst. It wasn't the most expensive either. He seemed to have some taste when it came to food. He had been several minutes late in picking Wash up, though. His excuse was that Junior was being difficult and he had to call Kai over at the last minute. Now, Tucker was walking with Wash's arm linked with his. "You look nice. The hairband is sexy," Tucker commented.

Wash smiled. He'd have to remember to thank Church later. "Thanks. You look nice too," Wash said back. Tucker did look nice. He was wearing a pair of impossibly flattering dark wash jeans and a well-worn blue sweater that hugged his form. Judging from the color, it looked like Wash wasn't the only one who stole clothes from Church.

Tucker had gotten them reservations at a booth in the back of the restaurant. There weren't as many people there, considering it was a Sunday night. Tucker put his elbows on the table and rested his head in his hands. "So... What did I do to get you to accept so quickly, hmm?" he asked. Wash shrugged, even as he felt a blush creeping onto his face. He'd be lying if he said it was just on a whim.

Tucker had looked so earnest when he asked, so serious. Wash went with an answer he hadn't thought was even an option until it spilled out of his mouth. "Because your not-so-subtle flirting on Friday worked." Tucker's eyebrows made a slow ascent up his forehead. His mouth formed a small 'o'.

"You mean my blatant compliments about how damn cute you are?" Wash nodded slowly. That was definitely what they had been. Blatant. And it had taken him hours to realize. He was more out of touch than he had thought. Tucker's phone made a noise and he jumped slightly. "Whoops. I should-" He pointed to it. Mute it? Read the text? He did both.

The text was from Donut. It was several paragraphs worth of borderline angry words. The point was, he was ticked off because Wash had asked Doc to watch Ella for the evening, thus ruining Donut's chances of getting laid by his hot boyfriend. But Donut being Donut, he didn't want to say it to Wash's face. Tucker sighed and muted his ringer, put it back in his pocket and watched Wash wrinkle his nose at the wine selection. "Oh god," he whispered. Tucker leaned forward.

"What? What is it?" he demanded. Wash flipped the menu around and pointed to one of the 'Local Artisan' wines. "PFL? What's that?" Wash shuddered. "The disgusting blood wine from Friday," he whispered. Tucker snickered, remembering Wash's face as he forced himself to drink the whole glass. "Aw man, that was so shitty," he said. "And you drank a _whole_  glass."

Wash frowned. "Well I wasn't just going to let it go to waste, no matter how repulsive it was!" His voice pitched up the way it did when he got upset. Tucker tried to backtrack. As cute as he was when his voice did that, no one wanted to deal with pissed Wash. "You never told me the story of you and Carolina getting drunk and making towers out of shot glasses," Tucker said, a grin splitting across his face. Wash verbally floundered. He was even redder than before. It was cute. It really brought out his freckles.

"We- we'll I didn't want to- okay fine. A couple years back, York co-owned a bar with another friend. We would go there sometimes and get discounts on drinks. One night, Carolina challenged me to a competition. I'm pretty sure it was 'to the death'. She said we just had to drink as many shots as we could." Wash dragged a hand down his face. "She won. I got six shots down before they all threatened to come back up. I was shit-faced for the rest of the night. Broke half of York's glasses trying to see how high I could stack them. He got so pissed. At me _and_  Lina. He said no more drinking contests. And believe me, when York gets pissed, it's scary. Even scarier then when North gets angry."

Tucker was full-on beaming now. He reached over and grabbed Wash's hand. It was cold. "Hey, thanks for telling me all your embarrassing stories," he said. Wash rolled his eyes. "Yeah yeah, you know all my dark secrets now," he mumbled sarcastically. "I think you owe me one in return." Tucker tilted his head. "An embarrassing story or a dirty story?" Wash snorted. "An embarrassing story, c'mon Tucker. This is a _first_  date," he joked.

Tucker stuck his tongue out a Wash. Wash gasped. "Wow, Tucker. Immature." They both fell into a comfy silence after that. The server came by and they ordered. Tucker got a stew. He wanted something warm to combat the frigid weather.

Wash ordered some sort of veggie rice bowl. Tucker kicked Wash's leg under the table and called him a nerd. Wash gave him a death stare. "I'm still waiting on that story," Wash mentioned when they both got their food. Tucker shrugged. "I honestly don't know which story to tell," he admitted.

Wash thought for a moment. "Who is-" he stopped. No. That was stupid. Tucker looked up at him. "Who is who?" he asked. Wash shrugged. "I was... Gonna ask who Junior's mom was, but it know that's probably a touchy subject or maybe-" "She was a bitch, that's who." Tucker scowled down at his bowl of beef stew. The carrots seemed to mock him. Fuck those carrots.

"She claimed she wanted a kid. I was happy to provide, eager for any kind of... You know, contact. I was just a stupid kid back then. Nine months later, boom. I was a dad, she wanted nothing to do with either of us. It was just 'he's your problem now'. I felt like an idiot until Junior was seven months old. Then it was like... Something turned on inside me- not like that, Ew. Something changed, and suddenly he was my number one priority. The light of my life. I would do anything for him."

Tucker looked up from his stew and made eye contact with Wash. "And I still will. I will always do whatever it takes for him. His mom was complete and utter trash. I'll be happy if I never have to see her again." Wash swallowed hard. He could see the hardness in Tucker's eyes. It was clear he _really did_  hate this woman. Some part of him was beyond overjoyed that he wasn't still with her. "Good. It's good you got yourself away from h-" He froze.

Tucker was smiling at him from across the table. His foot was wedged between Wash's knees. Wash didn't like the close proximity of Tucker's foot. The thick heel of his boot was poking into this thighs. Tucker was great at changing the subject.

"Lavernius Tucker, get that foot back on the ground," Wash demanded, trying to use his best drill sergeant voice. It didn't sound as commanding considering there was a faint smile on his face. "Don't be such a tease." Tucker shrugged. "It's what I do, David. I'm a tease." he winked at Wash. Ah yes, that was the ticket. Wash was practically squirming in his seat. Tucker guessed he really did like it when someone used his real name.

Despite Tucker's earlier name calling, he made Wash feed him some of his rice bowl. Wash felt like a lovey-dovey couple, feeding his boyfriend bites of food from across the table. But Tucker wasn't his boyfriend. Not yet.

* * *

 

Church was typing away on his laptop while Caboose attempted to make cookies. He liked to bake, but more times than not they ended up horribly mangled or worse, tasting like pure salt. Church was keeping an eye on him from the kitchen counter. He was half-listening to the tune Caboose was humming.

"Hey buddy, I have a stupid meeting tomorrow morning at nine, you think you'll be okay for a couple of hours?" he asked, checking his schedule and flicking his eyes up to Caboose. Caboose nodded. He added an extra cup of sugar. Some of it spilled over the side of the bowl and ended up on the counter. "Yeah, I'm pretty okay by myself. I promise I won't spill anything on the floors, or set things on fire again, or make a sandcastle inside, or let Freckles on your bed, or let me on your bed, or-"

Church chuckled despite himself. "Okay okay, it seems you've got everything covered. Good for you." He looked back down at his schedule. There was another meeting right after with the representatives from the Valhalla Art Institute. They wanted to talk about Caboose putting in an installment. "That reminds me, do you know what you're making for VAI?" Caboose dumped four teaspoons of ground cinnamon into his cookie batter.

"Yep. I'm going to make a _whole lot_  of blue slime and put it in that little room they gave me. It's gonna be on the walls and the floor and maybe the ceiling! If they let me. I think it's going to be really cool if I can make enough."

Well shit. Caboose sure was ambitious. Church wondered if he could convince everyone else to help him make several thousand gallons of kiddie slime. Maybe it could be cheaper to just go straight to the Elmer's Glue factory and demand everything they had.

His mind wandered to prices. He might be able to convince them if he played his 'I'm the son of a very rich and powerful businessman' card. He didn't like to do that. His dad was a real asshole. Well, dad in the loosest possible sense of the word. His dad was why Church went by his last name. Being named after one's neglectful father wasn't the greatest thing in the world. Besides, Leonard was a dorky name.

Caboose was back to humming and he had put his 'cookies' in the oven. Church wanted to go to bed, but he knew he had to stay up to make sure Caboose didn't burn down the house while baking his cookies. Instead, he closed his computer and rested his head on the cold marble countertop. He would just close his eyes for a second.

Ping!

"The fuck?" Church shouted. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and glared at it angrily. A text from Carolina. He simultaneously hated and enjoyed being the one person she consistently confided in.

_Carolina: I got my last box moved in to Kimball's apartment! Yay!_

Church smiled fondly.

_Church: When's the wedding?_

_Carolina: York already called dibs on best man, sorry_

_Church: Oh noooooo! What am I gonna doooooo?_

_Carolina: Sit in the back and silently cry tears of joy as your half-sister is married off to a hot buff beauty_

_Church: HA! I wish I could say the same. I almost did._

_Carolina: ..._

_Carolina: I'm sorry._

_Church: Honestly, I don't give a fuck anymore. I like to think we've both moved on. Even if she is a huge bitch for ditching me while we were engaged._

_Church: Fuck you, Allison!_

_Carolina: Yeah! Here's to moving on! For you, at least. I plan on staying with Vanessa for a while._

_Church: Yeah yeah, go brag about it to baby boy York_

_Carolina: Maybe I will_

_Carolina: Good night, love you_

_Church: Love you too, you piece of shit_

Church took off his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes. Caboose was taking his cookies out of the oven. They looked okay. "How do they taste?" he asked as Caboose took a bite out of one. He made a face. "Salty. Like last time. And really, really, really, _really_  sweet."

Church patted Caboose on the shoulder. "I'll pass. Goodnight, Caboose. I'm tired as fuck and I need to sleep. Don't burn anything," he said as he passed Caboose on his way to the stairs.

* * *

 

"So my sister, she reaches across the table for a napkin and her arm bumps one of the candles onto the table! And- and it sets on fire!" Wash was wheezing with laughter, his eyes scrunched up as he tried to stop from laughing too hard. Across from him, Tucker is clutching his stomach and snorting. "Holy- shit," he breathed between laughs.

"I didn't think that'd be so funny." Wash calmed down a bit. "That's not the best part. So, the tablecloth is on fire, I'm sitting next to her freaking out and she picks up my drink, my alcoholic drink, and tries to put out the fire with it!" They both erupted into more laughter.

"Why?" Tucker giggled. "That's so funny!" he wiped a tear from his face. "I've never been to a wedding that eventful. I went to my older brother's wedding. It was kinda boring. The only funny thing that happened was he accidentally spilled punch on himself because my cousin snuck up on him."

Wash nodded. "Well, I have about three more wedding stories. My family has bad luck when it comes to those, apparently. My other sister, when she got married, bruised her wife's nose trying to kiss her. And my second cousin got into a fist fight with one of his homophobic in-laws. He broke the guy's nose and bruised his ribs." Tucker shook his head. "Man, my story sounds like shit now. I have to meet your family one day. They sound great."

Wash nodded in agreement. "They sure are. My sisters would love you. They'd probably love Junior too. They both have kids of their own, maybe you could bond over that." Tucker picked up his fork and stabbed into his cherry cheesecake. Wash eyed it like a hawk eyes its prey. Tucker silently put a bite on his fork and handed it across the table to Wash.

Wash eagerly took the fork and took a bite. "That's amazing," he mumbled through his mouthful of cake. Tucker gave Wash a sly grin. Wash started shaking his head.

"No. No, don't-"

"I can think of a few other things that would taste amazing," Tucker continued, disregarding Wash's protests. "Bow chcika bow wow."

"C'mon, that wasn't worth it," Wash mumbled. He stole another bite of Tucker's cake. Tucker scowled at him. "Stop eating my cake."

"Then find me something else to eat," Wash retorted, not thinking about his words. Tucker went silent. He stared at Wash wide-eyed. Wash glanced up at him. "See, that was worth it." Tucker's stare went from being surprised to... Something else. Something that made his dark brown eyed seem almost black. His gaze sent them both into silence. It was off-putting.

Wash needed to get out from under Tucker's stare, breathe a little. "I'm going to the bathroom," he muttered. Tucker nodded, as if in a daze and let him go. "Damn, Wash," he whispered under his breath. Wash holed himself up in the bathroom for the second time within a week. He hated himself for that. Sure, he had never been good with people. Some situations got to be too much for him. Sometimes he just needed to get away from it all and compose himself.

But doing so in a bathroom wasn't the most dignified of spots, in Wash's opinion. Tucker pushed open the door a few minutes later and found Wash engaged in a staring contest with himself at the mirror. Tucker tapped him on the shoulder and almost got a face-full of Wash's fist. He stepped back, holding his hands up in defense. "Whoa dude, calm down. Are you... Ready to go? I already payed and everything," Tucker said, letting his shoulders relax when Wash did the same. "Yeah, I'm good. I just-"

Wash smiled to himself. "I didn't think I had it in me to make innuendos on your level." Tucker gave him a hearty laugh. "That was pretty surprising... And totally hot, by the way," he mentioned, slipping his hand into Wash's and leading them out of the bathroom. Tucker's hand felt warm in Wash's grasp.

Tucker always felt warm. He'd thought about before, but Tucker truly was the warmest person he knew. Wash could faintly feel the pulsing of blood in Tucker's veins. It was soothing. "So you want me to just take you home? I would say my place, but Junior's probably sleeping and Kai's there too, so it wouldn't really work out," Tucker said, fumbling for the keys to his car. He let go of Wash's hand briefly. Wash's right hand became painfully aware of how cold it was that night.

"Wash. Washington? Get in, dude," Tucker called from the driver's seat, and Wash realized he had been standing there looking at his hand. He ducked his head to try and hide his embarrassment and got in. Tucker seemed not to have noticed. "I'll try and come over tomorrow after work, see your newly redecorated apartment. Sound good?" Tucker asked about halfway through the drive. Wash nodded. "Sounds great. I'll be at orchestra most of the day, the new maestro wants to try and put together a string only performance for the old maestro's farewell party," Wash said. Tucker nodded. "Who's the new guy, by the way? I haven't met him yet."

Wash shifted in his seat. "He's from upstate. Donald Doyle is his name. I've heard great things about him, as well as bad things. He's not exactly... Well, he's a doormat. He said himself that he's not a brave man. The backup trombone player made him faint one morning, that was horrible. Other than the fact that he's probably scared of own shadow, he has skill as a conductor and an impeccable sense of rhythm." Tucker slowed his car outside Wash's apartment. "So he's okay?" He asked. Wash shrugged. "I don't have any problem with him, no." Tucker tried to change the subject while Wash remembered where he put his keys. "Can I come in?" He asked. "I want to... Say hi to Ella," he finished.

Wash could tell that wasn't _exactly_  why he wanted to come in. "Sure... Why not?" Wash answered carefully. Tucker's eyes lit up and he bounded up the stairs after Wash. To be honest, Wash was only slightly more excited to see Ella than to have Tucker in his apartment late at night after a date that went very well. Except the date was the only thing that went well. Everything went downhill from there. Wash opened his door and immediately shrieked.

Tucker, who couldn't see over Wash's back (damn his height), had to play it by ear. He heard tiny telltale mews from Ella, stuttering and general confused noises from Wash and a high-pitched 'oops-I've-just-been-caught' noise that sounded suspiciously like one Franklin Delano Donut. "What the fuck is going on here? Doc, I asked you to watch Ella! Donut, you aren't even supposed to be here until tomorrow! And _what the fuck is going on here?!_ "

Wash had his hands in the air now, ready to strike. Tucker followed him farther into his apartment and very quickly wished he could bleach his eyes. Wash was pacing angrily now, avoiding looking at the couch which now had his two half-dressed friends sitting on it looking only slightly remorseful. Donut and Doc both seemed very disappointed that Wash had come back.

"Me asking Doc to watch my cat is not an invitation for you two to fuck on my couch. Now please put your clothes back on and leave. You have your own house," Wash said, pinching the bridge of his nose. Donut shrugged, casting occasional glances at Tucker while he retrieved his shirt from the floor. Doc hadn't said a word the whole time. He looked so embarrassed Tucker almost felt bad for him. Nevertheless, he waved to Wash and apologized several times, assuring him that Ella was fine and he had taken care of her. Wash watched them leave, making sure the door was shut firmly before turning to Tucker.

"Well, that was-" he started before Tucker cut him off. "I've got to say, Wash, as entertaining as that was, it totally ruined the mood. I saw things going much differently." Wash nodded. He found Ella near his feet and picked her up gently. "I did too. In my scenario, neither of them were here. Ella was asleep on the couch."

Tucker perked up. "What was I doing?" he asked. Wash went silent. After a moment of him petting Ella's soft fur, he spoke again. "You said you had a good time and gave me a kiss goodbye," he said quickly.

Tucker stepped forward. "Oh really? That's exactly what my scenario was, except I added a little something... Extra, if you know what I mean." Wash let Ella slip out of his hands. She jumped over onto the couch. Wash payed her little mind.

"I'm not really feeling up for something extra," he admitted. Tucker shrugged mildly. A good-natured smile passed across his face. "That's cool. I'm fine with just a goodbye kiss." He cupped Wash's face with his hands and pulled him down (damn his height) into a kiss.

Somehow, despite every other known inch of Wash being cold all the time, his lips were warm and inviting. It was short, sweet, and left Tucker wanting more. But Wash didn't want more, so he left it at that. Slowly, Tucker took his hands away from Wash's face and gave him a wink.

"I had a good time tonight. We should do it again," he said and started walking towards the door. He gave Wash one last glance and saw him licking his lips. "See you tomorrow, Tucker," he called. His face was red, not only from embarrassment this time, Tucker hoped. He waved to Wash before closing the door and letting out a breath.

Holy crap, he had fallen hard. Wash was a damn good kisser. Not to mention his scar was a welcome addition to the whole experience.

Tucker was looking forward to tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kisses. And barely mentioned, slightly glossed over Sarcus. Because I'm trash. That one scene from S15 where Sarge and Locus play rock paper scissors just ruined me. It's what started my love for that rarepair. I don't even know how, it just did.
> 
> On another note, there should be only one chapter left in this fic AAAAHHH! I'm so happy for this to be over, not because I hate it (not that much, at least) but because it frees me up to continue and start new fics. This has been a huge learning curve for me, being my first ever fic and I have learned a lot from it.
> 
> It shall be done some time in January!
> 
> Comments. Give me. Life. You wanna keep me alive? Consider throwing some choice words my way.


	14. Because your words are like music to my ears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I fuckin' love you," Said Church.  
> "You know I love you, right?" Said Carolina.  
> "I love you so much," Said Doc.  
> "I think I love you," Said Wash.  
> "Oh my god, I love you!" Said Simmons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I should be writing  
> Also me: Nah, it's fine  
> Me: ...  
> Me: ...  
> Me: But seriously, you gotta  
> Me: O k a Y f i n E
> 
> I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK FOREVER! Enjoy this monster of a finale! (7,910 words)

Wash couldn't help himself. He burst into a fit of giggles, Ignoring the incredulous looks he got from the rest of the string section. They had just ended their practice and everyone was packing up. Wash had just slung his violin case over his shoulder and checked his messages.

Tucker had sent him a picture of Junior. He was doing that more often now. It probably didn't help that Wash sent him pictures of Ella 24/7. In the picture, Junior was holding a drawing he made at school. It was of Wash and him throwing flour at each other. It was the most precious thing he had seen all day.

Wash, instead of stopping to text Tucker back, jogged the rest of the way to his car and started back to his apartment. He had almost forgotten that Donut was supposed the be there within the hour and Tucker later that day.

Ella was waiting for him when he got back, making little squeaking noises at him until he picked her up and let her climb around on his shoulders. Donut sent a hasty text saying he would be there soon. Wash took the opportunity to text Tucker back about that adorable picture of Junior.

_Wash: That's so cute ❤_

Tucker responded almost immediately.

_Tucker: So are you ;P_

_Tucker: Junior wants you to come over and make cake again_

_Tucker: I may have told him yes, if he finished his homework_

_Tucker: So be ready to come over this weekend, I have complete faith in him_

Wash batted Ella's paw away from his eye so he could see. She was mewing right in his ear. Eventually, he gave up and sat down on the couch so Ella could lay down in his lap.

_Wash: I have faith in him too. He's a really smart kid_

_Tucker: So... When's Donut going to be done so I can come over?_

_Wash: He hasn't shown up yet. It could be a couple of hours_

_Tucker: Oh. Okay. Just text me when he leaves_

_Wash: Will do_

Wash was startled out of his comfy lull by a firm, loud knock at his door. It cut through the silence and made Ella jump off his lap and scramble into the corner to hide behind his violin case. The knock was followed by a familiar lilting voice. "Hey hey! Guess who?" Wash wasted no time in wrenching the door open, a bright smile on his face.

Surprisingly, two faces smiled back at him. Donut, with his bright blonde hair and his best friend with her startling short red hair. Wash made a small gasp before wrapping his arms around Carolina's shoulders. "Carolina! What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice muffled against her jacket.

"I wanted to make up for not being any help yesterday," Carolina said as she pulled Wash off of her. "I was caught up in a lot of things, but I'm here now and I can finally meet your cat. Not to mention, Donut has a few hefty items he needed help with carrying." Wash, still smiling, managed to coax Ella out of the corner and let Carolina hold her while he and Donut went over the plans.

"The only heavy things were the plants," Donut was saying. "I saw this really nice fern that would go right over there." He pointed to a corner of the living room. "And it's pretty big. I also got a few flowering plants, I thought you'd love them."

Wash listened as Donut listed off all the things he had gotten. By the time he finished, Ella was napping in Carolina's arms (she was a very sleepy kitten) and it was nearly eleven o'clock. Wash figured he should make lunch while Carolina and Donut brought everything up. No matter how many times he asked, Donut would not let him lift a finger. The next best thing he could do was make them food.

As the minutes passed, his apartment got progressively less depressing and more green. The kitchen smelled like grilled chicken and limes, Carolina said. She wasn't far off. After the third time, Wash finally told her what he was making. It was Church's favorite Couscous recipe. Grilled chicken and couscous with lime and cilantro. Church had been ecstatic when Wash said he would make it and now he asked for it every year on his birthday.

Donut had somehow never been to Church's birthday party (he only had them because Caboose loved parties) and hadn't had the pleasure of eating Wash's couscous. "You have to make this for Frankie. He'll absolutely love it," Donut commented while texting Grif about the amazing food he was eating.

Carolina nodded. "It is really good." She sat on the couch with a plate of food on her lap. She was directing Wash where to put the potted flowering plants. "I know I say that every time you make food, but it's true. A little more to the left."  Wash moved the plant over and after getting a satisfied nod from her, deemed the placement okay and went to sit down next to her.

"And I know I say it every time, but thank you." Wash gave Carolina a nudge on the shoulder and a smile. "Thanks for your help, it feels so much nicer in here. And I love the rug." He moved his feet across the new fluffy white rug. It was so soft. Ella seemed to love it too, she was sprawled out, napping contentedly.

Donut, after finishing what was in his mouth, gave Wash a sweet smile. "It was nothing. I'll be glad if it makes you feel less lonely. Although, you do have Ella now. And Tucker." Donut waggled his eyebrows knowingly at Wash.

Carolina gave Wash a sidelong glance. "That reminds me..." Wash braced himself. "How was your date with Tucker?"

Wash quickly ate about half a plate's worth of couscous to fill the silence and buy him some time. He hadn't considered it much, but thinking back on the previous night, there were a few things he was reluctant to share. Carolina, he knew he could confide in any time. She was a good listener and gave above-average advice usually.

Donut, on the other hand, Wash knew would jump at the first chance to spread any information around. In his own words, he was 'the vehicle on which gossip rode' (And to him, gossip was everything. How else was he supposed to build up his reputation?). Wash wasn't keen on letting _everyone_  know about Tucker's little goodnight kiss.

It wasn't a big deal, anyway. It was just one kiss. One tiny kiss. It wasn't even that long. Sure, Tucker's tongue had found itself tracing his scar and he may or may not have wanted that to go on for much longer and maybe in a few other places-

"Wash. Wash. You're spacing out again." Carolina snapped her fingers in front of his face, hoping to coax him out of his trance. Wash came back to reality with a little jolt. "Oh- uh... The date was okay." Carolina looked unconvinced.

"Alright, it was really good. We swapped stories, I told him about my sisters' weddings and he told me about Junior's mom. Spoilers, she's a huge bitch, if I'm to believe what he told me." Wash glanced over at Donut, who was fidgeting in his seat. "Donut? You okay?" He asked, concern lacing his voice.

Donut nodded quickly. "Yeah, I'm just- I should go." He stood up quickly and smoothed down his shirt. "Frankie texted me and said he'd be home from work early and I just-" Wash held up his hand, effectively silencing Donut. "Hey. It's okay. Go on."

Donut nodded again and headed for the door. "Bye! Thanks for letting me redecorate!" he said. Wash waved to him. "And thanks for doing such a good job!" He gave Donut a thumbs-up and turned back to Carolina when he heard the door shut.

"Okay. Tucker kissed me last night. But, not in a 'initiating sex' kind of way, because I told him I wasn't up for it, more of a... a goodnight kiss. Which was exactly what it was. But it was nice... Really nice. And I told him he could come over later, except I don't know if he genuinely wants to see my apartment or if he wants to-"

Carolina casually clamped her hand over Wash's mouth, something she hadn't done in years. "Shhhh, you're rambling. You start rambling when you're nervous," she pointed out. "Look, I'm happy you finally got a kiss from your Prince Charming. Good for you."

Wash peeled Carolina's hand away from his face. "Thanks," he said, somewhat sarcastically. Carolina ignored him. "But if you're asking me how to tell if he wants to fuck, I can't help you there. Guys are fucking enigmas."

Wash gave Carolina a look. "Okay, girls are difficult too. Luckily, I found myself a woman who'll tell me exactly what she wants. Maybe you should do the same. Communication is important. Just tell him what you want, he listened last night, didn't he?"

Wash considered for a moment. "... Okay. I'll try. But I'm blaming you if anything goes wrong." He jabbed a finger at Carolina. "Yeah yeah, sure you will," she answered playfully. "I'll get out of your hair now, I have somewhere to be." She stood up and stretched grandly. "Where?" Wash asked.

Carolina shrugged. "The dance studio. And then probably to the grocery store, because Kimball's fridge is emptier than... Emptier than... Church's heart." Sh suppressed a laugh. Leave it to Carolina to come up with the worst possible joke.

"Well, see you later. Thanks for stopping by." Wash stood up and gave Carolina a hug. She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed him tight. "It was good to see you again. We have to hang out more," she said.

Once Carolina had finally let go of Wash and taken the leftover couscous with her, Wash laid back down on his couch and texted Tucker.

_Wash: Hey. Come over_

He watched as the little icon indicated Tucker was typing. It felt like and eternity before he got a reply.

_Tucker: K_

Wash rolled his eyes, a fond smile on his face. Ella jumped up on the couch and curled up on Wash's chest. He looked around and got a good look at his new and improved apartment. It really was nice. The yellow lamp was a good choice. All the flowering plants Donut had found had white or yellow flowers. The varying shades of green that now graced nearly every inch of his living room made everything feel so much more lively.

Wash made a note to thank Donut every single time he saw him.

* * *

 

Grif sat with his legs crossed and a mug of hot apple cider in his hands. He was sitting outside his second favorite café with Sarge and his... Well, Sarge called him 'sweetie', so Grif thought it was safe to assume he was Sarge's boyfriend. His name was Sam.

The weather was surprisingly mild. Mild enough to be able to sit outside and not freeze to death. Sarge was still wearing his signature red scarf and a suspicious scowl. Sam was calmly drinking a cup of herbal tea and boring a hole into Grif's skull with his pricing gaze. Grif cut to the chase.

"So here's the deal. I like Simmons. You like Simmons, wether you want to admit it or not. I want to do something nice for Simmons, because I like him. You... Are going to help me do that nice thing, because you have a rich boyfriend," Grif glanced over at Sam, "Who undoubtedly has connections and can potentially get me access to a high-tech 3D printer." Sam nodded.

"What's the nice thing?" Sarge demanded, not as coldly as he had wanted to.

Grif took another sip of his cider and crossed his other leg. "A 3D printed prosthetic. Simmons keeps complaining about how heavy his metal arm is and how much it aches and how he keeps accidentally bruising himself."

"Hmmm. How much would this cost?" Sam said, uttering the first words Grif had heard him say. He had a nice voice. It was deep.

"$50 at the very most," Grif answered, almost from memory. He had done _so much_  research, even so far as to attempt to learn how to render his own model (he had given up five minutes in).

"That's acceptable," Sam said at the same time as Sarge exclaimed "Only $50?"

"So you'll do it?" Grif asked, leaning forward expectantly. Sam opened his mouth to respond, but Sarge bet him to the chase.

"I'll do better! I'll get you a state-of-the-art, medical grade 3D prosthetic. Meet me at the Hospital tomorrow, I'll have it by then," He said, getting up from his seat. Grif sat dumbfounded as Sam followed Sarge quietly. He nodded to Grif respectfully. 

"O-okay. Good...Bye," Grif mumbled. That had been so easy. He had expected at least some form of haggling. It was _Sarge_ , for fucks sake! He slumped down in his chair and downed the rest of his cider. His phone vibrated on the table and he picked it up, noticing a text from Donut.

_Donut: ❤_

Attached was a picture of the couscous dish Church always had for his birthday. Damn, it was good. Grif started to get hungry just looking at it. He shot a quick 'Fuck you, now I'm hungry' back to Donut and went inside the café to pay for his drink and maybe get a snack. He suddenly couldn't wait for tomorrow so he could give Simmons his gift.

He deserved it.

* * *

 

Church fumbled for his keys as he stifled a yawn. He was so tired. Meetings were boring, draining and filled with people he wanted to (but wasn't allowed to) punch. He only hoped Caboose was having a better day than he was.

Caboose _was_  having a better day. He was poking around in one of the few unopened boxes and had found a colorful piece of fabric and some embroidery thread. Armed with YouTube tutorials and Freckles asleep at his feet he had spent most of the day teaching himself how to sew and was working on French knots when Church practically stumbled through the doorway and grunted incoherently as a greeting.

"Ah, Church! You're back! How was you're day?" Caboose asked, bright and sunny as always. "Meetings fucking suuuuuckkk," Church wailed as he dropped his bag an the floor and slumped onto the couch next to Caboose. He shifted slightly and rested his head in Caboose's lap. "Whatcha doin'?" he asked. Caboose held up the fabric and his needle. "Sewing," he said simply and went back to it. "Huh. You're doing great," he said. Caboose beamed.

Church noticed the seven bandaids Caboose wore on his fingers. "Did you poke yourself with the needle?" he asked needlessly. Caboose nodded. "I did. A lot of times. But it didn't hurt for long. I remembered to clean them so I didn't get an infection and I didn't spill any blood anywhere, except right here," he pointed to a small discolored spot on the fabric. "Are you tired?" He asked. Church was yawning again.

"Yep," was all he got as an answer before Church took off his glasses and made himself more comfortable in Caboose's lap. "I'm going to take a nap, wake me in an hour," he mumbled. Caboose reached over and pulled a blanket over Church, making sure to tuck it under his chin the way he liked.

"I fuckin' love you, Caboose," was the last thing Church said before he fell into a warm and comfortable sleep.

* * *

 

Kimball was already waiting for Carolina at the dance studio. Apparently, she had gotten a ride from one of her students (they were all angels) and was doing stretches at the bar when Carolina came through the door with a smile on her face.

"What's got you in such a good mood?" Kimball asked as Carolina gave her a kiss on the cheek. "You, as always, but also..." Carolina glanced around. The only other person in the studio was Andersmith and he was currently involved with the most beautiful pliés Carolina had ever seen. "Wash and Tucker have finally stopped being stupid," Carolina finished.

Kimball grinned. "Oh? How so?" She asked. Carolina went to join her at the bar. "Tucker kissed him last night... And he's also going to Wash's place later... Aloooone." She drew out the last word as obnoxiously as she could. Kimball snickered. "It's about time. Why can't they be more like us, huh? We know what we want. We take charge. Not to mention," She scooted closer to Carolina and put a hand on her leg. "We are smoking hot."

Carolina couldn't argue with that. They were quite the power couple. Strong, confident, gorgeous. Kimball had those great arms that came with years of doing pull-ups every morning and lifting people twice her weight clear off the ground on a daily basis. Carolina had legs of steel. Wash had once said that she could probably crush a man's skull between her thighs... And York had volunteered.

They tried to practice their routine, they really did. But Andersmith kept getting curious about what they were doing and the two women ended up showing him how to properly catch someone and by the time he had perfected it, the sky was growing dark. Kimball didn't seem to care. She was happy she had taught one of her students something new.

"Oh right, we have to stop by and get groceries," Carolina said once they were in the car. Kimball groaned. "I hate getting groceries. It's boring. And people judge me," she mumbled. Carolina nodded in agreement. "Yeah, I know what you mean. Do you know how many weird looks I got from old ladies last time I went shopping? Too many. I must have been my hair," she said thoughtfully.

Kimball snorted. "Your hair? You mean the fact that it's the color of a goddamn strawberry?" she asked. Carolina scoffed at that. Her hair was 'fiery red'. At least, that's what the hair dye container said. "It's not strawberry red," she argued. "If it wasn't the middle of winter, I'd show you a strawberry for comparison," Kimball said. Too bad it was February, and no grocery store in its right mind would have any.

Grocery shopping was just as boring and Kimball had feared. She and Carolina sat for longer than they should have trying to think of what they wanted to eat during the next week. Carolina had half a mind to text Grif. He'd probably be able to list off at least eight meals without thinking.

Eventually, they decided- okay, decided was a stretch. They _bullshitted_  their way through the shopping list. Kimball considered herself resourceful when it came to cooking. She said she could 'probably figure it out'. They wandered the aisles with their hands clasped together, looking incredibly obnoxious to everyone around them.

Carolina sent Kimball an annoyed look when they overheard a little girl saying that Carolina's hair looked like 'a strawberry on her head'. Kimball retaliated by sticking her tongue out. While waiting in line at the checkout, Carolina cursed under her breath and made Kimball hold their place while she ran back and got tampons. Kimball Gave her a thankful smile. She knew neither of them would want to make a separate trip.

During the brief walk back to the car, Carolina realized how much she loved the domesticity of it all. Doing simple things like grocery shopping used to be at the very bottom of the list of things she cared about. But having someone to do it WITH made it so much more enjoyable. Suddenly, grocery shopping was number 46 on the list of things she cared about. As long as she go to to it with Kimball.

Kimball drove on the way back and Carolina took the opportunity to see what Wash was up to. She wasn't even the least bit concerned that she might be... Interrupting something. Okay, she wasn't _that_  evil. She'd just send him a text. He could ignore that if he wanted to.

_Carolina: How are you doing?_

_Carolina: What should Nessa and I make for dinner?_

That should do it. Carolina sat back, mildly pleased with herself. She helped Kimball get the groceries up the two flights of stairs to their _shared_  apartment. Carolina still loved thinking about that. She had been so happy when she went down and informed the landlord that was terminating her lease. It was nice to walk through the doorway and see her shoes sitting right next to Kimball's, her jacket right next to Kimball's, her shirts in the laundry basket, her clumsily smeared hair dye staining the sink (she said she was sorry).

It was nice to come home and think 'this is _our_  home now.'

Carolina took a quick shower and was greeted with the thick scent of soy sauce filling the air. Kimball was making sir-fry for dinner. She was at the stove, steam making her hair frizzy, tending to a pan of veggies. Carolina  Mae up behind her and rested her chin in the crook of Kimball's neck. "Hi," she mumbled. "Hi," Kimball answered.

"You know I love you, right?" Carolina asked. Kimball added more soy sauce to the pan. "Yeah," she said. "Can I tell you a secret?"

Carolina nodded. "I love you too," Kimball whispered. She turned her head and landed a kiss on Carolina's nose. Carolina chuckled. "I'll take that secret to my grave," she said, leaning in to give Kimball a proper kiss.

* * *

 

Wash was relieved and nervous and annoyed at Ella (who would not stop _attacking the ferns_ ) when Tucker finally knocked on his door. He bolted from the couch and almost slipped on his way to the door. He quickly composed himself before opening the door like a regular person.

Tucker looked great. There was really no reason for him to have dressed up, it was just an afternoon visit. Not that Wash was complaining, of course. The forest green cable knit sweater he was wearing brought out his eyes, the dark jeans did wonders for his thighs. His eyebrows furrowed into concern after about five seconds. "Wash, you're staring," Tucker said as he stepped through the doorway.

"I can't really be _that_  hot, can I?" He continued. Wash turned around, closing the door behind him and followed Tucker to the couch. "What?" He asked, a little sheepishly. He hadn't heard half of what Tucker had said, those jeans looked _so good_.

"I said am I really worthy of you staring?" Tucker said, raising his eyebrow. Wash nodded without a second thought. "Yes. You look really good," he finished. Tucker nodded thoughtfully, though the impression was ruined by the smile he wore. "It's cozy in here. I like all the plants."

Tucker swept his eyes around the living room, lingering on the odd collection of books on the coffee table and Ella in the corner peeking out from behind his violin case. He glanced down at the new fluffy rug and his gaze screamed 'I need to feel that'. Wash chuckled. "You can take your shoes off, Tucker," he said. Tucker barely gave him time to finish speaking before he quickly kicked off his shoes and ran his feet through the thick tufts.

"Ohhh, that's nice. Where'd you get it?" he asked. Wash shrugged. "I think Donut mentioned that it used to be his?" Tucker hummed absently, still running his feet over the carpet. After a silence that lasted one second too long, Wash finally gave in. "Did you really come here to see my apartment?" he asked, trying to sound innocent. Tucker snorted. "You make it sound like I must have ulterior motives," he said casually.

Wash paused. "Do you?" he asked. Tucker turned to face him, bringing his feet up and sitting cross-legged on the couch. "And what if I do? Hmmm? What. Are you. Going to do about it?" he growled, inching closer to Wash with every word. Wash let a ghost of a smile show. "I might be inclined to indulge you, Lavernius..." Wash started. He flicked his eyes over to the window. "But, if you haven't noticed, that window has _quite the veiw_."

Tucker started laughing. He started laughing so hard that he bent down and rested his forehead on Wash's chest to catch his breath. He was so close now, he was practically sitting on Wash's lap. Wash could feel his face heating up. Oh god. He really was terrible at flirting when he focused on it.

Tucker eventually got ahold of his lungs again and stopped laughing. "Oh my god! You're so cute!" he said, head still pressed to Wash's chest. "I was trying to subtly ask if you wanted to make out, not fuck." His head snapped up. "Wait. Unless you want to-" He stared into Wash's eyes, taking in his hesitant gaze. Wash quickly switched from stunned to... Something else.

"I don't... know. How about we just make out and see how I feel after, hmm?" he said, leaning down and resting his forehead against Tucker's. Tucker cupped Wash's cheeks tenderly. "Yes please," he breathed, his thumb brushing against Wash's scar. His breath was hot and Wash's nose got bent the wrong way. Tucker made an effort to not accidentally smash his teeth against Wash's, and Wash gave him credit, even if his efforts were in vain.

Ping!

Wash froze. His gaze slowly broke off from Tucker's and trained on his phone, laying on the coffee table. He glared daggers at it, hoping they would somehow become real and stab it to death. Tucker was slightly less subtle.

"What kind of _cockblocking bullshit_ -" he started, sitting back while Wash reached over and checked the message. "It's Carolina. She's asking what she should make for dinner." Wash stared at the screen in disbelief. Why? Why would she do this when she knew _VERY WELL_ what was happening. Unless...

"Are you going to answer?" Tucker's voice cut through Wash's thoughts and snapped him back to reality.  "No. She knew what she was doing, texting me at _this time_ , I'm sure as hell not going to give her the satisfaction of knowing she interrupted." Wash put his phone back on the table and gave it one last withering stare. Tucker slowly climbed back on Wash's lap. "So... Are we gonna-" Wash finished for him. "Pick up where we left off and forget we even stopped? Yes."

Wash was content with just sitting on the couch with Tucker and either talking, complaining about being musicians or making out. And as the sky darkened, he considered moving to a room that didn't have a window in full veiw of half the town. Maybe a bedroom.

* * *

 

Simmons liked to keep an organized mental list of things he liked and disliked. For example: Simmons hated the cold. His nose got runny, which was annoying, he had to bundle up in so many layers that he looked like a marshmallow, which was annoying, and his prosthetic got so cold that he was afraid he would get frostbite from just _being_  near it. Which was annoying.

He did, however, like the fact that Grif kept his apartment warm (albeit mostly filthy) and cozy. He liked that Grif knew when to wrap an extra blanket around his shoulders and snuggle up just a _tiny bit closer_. He liked that Grif offered to let him stay over whenever he wanted. He also liked that Grif didn't mind when he said he wanted to stay for longer. He liked those things about Grif.

Needless to say, most of the list of things Simmons liked had to do with Grif. That made it all the more unbearable when he wasn't there. Simmons had a single text from Grif saying that he had a few errands to run and might stop by in the evening to help Simmons air out his belongings that had gotten drenched by the sprinkler the night before.

Simmons was grateful for the prospect of help, even if it was overshadowed by an irrational annoyance at Grif for showing neither hide nor hair the whole day. Simmons chocked it up to something akin to embarrassment. Last night, after the sprinkler incident (and the kiss), Simmons wasn't going to make Grif sleep on the soggy couch.

He put both their wet clothes in the drier, gave Grif an old pair of sweats that somehow fit him and they both crawled into bed. There may or may not have been some cuddling. He probably couldn't deal with waking up in Simmons' bed... Next to him... So he left early in the morning and sent one single text.

When Grif got back, Simmons was going to have a word with him about jumping to conclusions.

He sat at the kitchen island with rising boredom and Donut's borrowed hair dryer, trying to salvage his books, most of which were Shakespeare... Because he had to do research for his plays and there was no reason for him to not have them all.

The drying process took too long. It was loud too, the sound of the hair dryer droning on and on. He almost missed the sound of his text alert.

_Grif: Errands took longer than they should have_

_Grif: I have pizza_

Simmons allowed himself a small smile. He considered replying with a joke about the fire alarm, but he was interrupted by a knock at the door. Simmons got up and walked to the door, smoothing down his hair as he went. Grif greeted him at the door with a smile and two boxes of pizza. "Hey Cinnamon," he said. Simmons loved that nickname.

"Hey Grif. What took so long? Last time I checked, errands don't usually take an entire day," Simmons said, stepping aside and letting Grif past. He shrugged. "Eh. It was a lot of things. First, Kai needed me to pick her up and drive her back to my place, then I ran into Donut and he wouldn't shut up about song lyrics, and then I had a meeting," Grif ticked off the times on his fingers.

Simmons raised his eyebrow. "A meeting?" he asked. Grif mentally cursed himself. He put down the pizza and glanced about at the open books airing out on the countertops. "Yeah... It was just- you know what?" He patted Simmons on the shoulder and smiled. "You'll find out soon enough." Simmons couldn't help but shudder at the ominous wording.

Grif opened the pizza boxes and helped himself to it. Simmons made him get a plate and had to remind him that the couch was soggy. Instead, they sat at the kitchen island. Grif was thankful that they still had a line of sight to the television (which, miraculously, still worked perfectly fine). Simmons pulled up the Star Trek episode they were watching and settled down next to Grif, occasionally bumping his shoulder.

When he was on his third slice of pizza, Simmons paused the show and spoke up. "Why'd you leave so early? I mean, you said your errands took a while, but as long as I've known you, you've never willingly gotten up before nine."

Grif made a noise somewhere between a sigh and a squeak. "I wanted to- save you the embarrassment, or whatever," he said, mostly to himself. Simmons looked confused. "What embarrassment? I was the one who invited you to NOT sleep on the couch."

Grif shrugged awkwardly. "Yeah, but we-" Simmons stopped him. "Okay. I don't know what you think I would be so embarrassed about, because I love cuddles. And I don't know if you noticed, but you fucking deliver." He put a hand on Grif's arm. "And I am embarrassed 93% of the time. There are few things that you could to make me more embarrassed than I already am."

Simmons regretted his words as soon as they were out of his mouth. "Oh?" Grif raised his eyebrow skeptically. "Is that..." He leaned over and whispered into Simmons' ear. "A challenge?" Simmons squeaked. "Nope! Not a challenge! I think you already won, anyway." He rubbed his ear, trying to get rid of the tingly feeling. Grif chuckled, clearly pleased with himself. "I'm sure I could do better." Simmons scoffed. "I'm not inviting you to," he said with finality.

Grif shrugged and went back to his pizza. Good. He had gotten that out of the way. The rest of the evening was filled with three more episodes of Star Trek, easy conversation and light banter. Grif didn't sleep on the still soggy couch. He didn't go home either (he said it was because Kai had someone over). Simmons said he got really cold at night, and no matter how many blankets he piled on his bed, it didn't help.

Grif, sweet, squishy, warm Grif... He helped.

* * *

 

When Donut got back from Wash's, he only had a few minutes alone before Doc burst through the door and kicked his shoes of with a loud groan. Donut gave him a sympathetic look as he dropped his bag on the table and made for the couch. "Ughhhhh. Work is so stressful. I don't know how Dr. Grey does it!" he lamented, his voice muffled by the couch cushions.

Donut came and sat next to Doc. He got up and scooted closer to Donut, nuzzling up to him and looking ready to fall asleep right there. Donut opened his mouth to speak, but clearly Doc wasn't done with his tirade. "And! And! Sarge stopped by today with his boyfriend and asked her to print a prosthetic arm! So she had to go and program it and I was left to deal with the _INSUFFERABLE_ patients!" He huffed.

Donut made an affirming noise and began to card his fingers through Doc's hair."I just want to sleep," he muttered, burying his face farther into the crook of Donut's neck. You have eat, Frankie," Donut argued. "Ugh. Curse this body, always needing food!" Doc groaned. "Fine I will eat... Did you make dinner?" he asked. Donut thought for a moment. "I think we still have some of Wash's lasagna left if you want that."

Doc nodded and let Donut get up from the couch to reheat the lasagna. Doc waited patiently, absently staring out the window at the light flurry falling from the sky. It had been so nice earlier, Doc thought. And now it was snowing yet again. Donut brought the lasagna to Doc on the couch and they ate in silence, their knees touching and Doc occasionally glancing over and giving Donut a bright smile, despite how drained he felt on the inside.

Doc finished his dinner, brought both their plates to the sink and washed them up, yawning throughout it all. Donut had to make sure he didn't fall on his way up the stairs, he was so tired. Doc managed to brush his teeth and change by himself, and convince Donut to lay down with him.

Donut turned off the lights, plunging the room into almost complete darkness. The moon, just a sliver, shed a tiny bit of light and gave Donut the means to find his way to the bed. Doc still had his eyes open and Donut found his gaze. They sat in silence, Doc staring at him with eyes he could barely keep open, Donut with his caring smile.

"I love you so much." Doc's words caught him off-guard. He didn't even have time to be disappointed that his serenading plan didn't go as expected.

"I do too," he replied, his defeated tone betraying the warmth filling his chest. "What's wrong?" Doc asked, obviously noticing Donut's tone. Donut shook his head slightly. "Nothing... I just had this silly plan," he confessed. Doc raised an eyebrow. "What plan?" Donut shrugged. "I was gonna serenade you... And say I love you first. I guess you beat me to it, heh." Doc raised his other eyebrow. "You can still serenade me if you really want to." Who was he to turn down and opportunity to hear Donut's angelic voice?

"Yeah?" Donut asked, sounding a little apprehensive. Doc nodded. "Yeah. I can't sleep anyway, maybe your beautiful voice will help lull me to sleep."

"Okay." So Donut sang. He barely used any of the original lyrics he had planned to. He just sang. Sometimes there wouldn't even be words, but it didn't matter. He sang what he felt and soon enough, he could feel Doc's breath even out and he knew he was asleep. Donut yawned widely and figured it was time he did the same.

He didn't even bother returning to his own bed.

* * *

 

Wash woke up like he always did, except... This wasn't like always. Ella wasn't laying over his legs like she usually was, probably because the door was shut. There wasn't bright morning light on his face, probably because the shades were pulled closed. His blanket(s) wasn't kicked to the floor like it usually was. In fact, it wasn't even on the floor. It was wrapped around Tucker, who was sleeping peacefully beside Wash looking nice and toasty.

Wash had always suspected that Tucker was a blanket-hogger (not that he needed the extra warmth, he was a goddamn furnace). He had not expected Tucker to look so beautiful in the morning. What little light came through the window illuminated his face. He looked so peaceful.

But that didn't matter. Wash was cold, and Tucker had his blanket. Wash leaned over and pulled the edge of the blanket off Tucker. He protested in the form of mumbled curses and half-assed attempts to grab the blanket back. Wash ignored him, wrapped the blanket around them both, and moved closer until he was flush with Tucker's back.

Tucker turned his head and opened his eyes slowly. Wash smiled at him. "Good morning, beautiful," he said. Tucker, instead of answering, turned over so he was facing Wash and gave him a kiss on the tip of his nose. "G'morning." Wash smiled again. "What do you want to eat for breakfast?" he asked. Tucker gave him a sly grin. "Well...". Wash shook his head. "No. No, Tucker. Real food," Wash said before Tucker could utter his joke.

Tucker fake-pouted. Wash ignored him, dragging himself out of bed to open the shades. Tucker stopped fake pouting. He settled for a horribly executed cat-call. Wash scoffed. "What? It's nothing new," he said, walking to his dresser and pulling out a pale gray sweater and jeans. Tucker sat on the bed and didn't even try to hide the fact that he was enjoying the view. "So..." he started. Wash raised an eyebrow. "So?" Tucker shrugged. "Yeah, what... What next?" Wash tilter his head. "You get dressed and come downstairs for breakfast, I make sure Ella doesn't hate me for locking her out all night," Wash said with finality.

Tucker nodded slowly. Okay, that was fine. He was fine with that. Wash headed downstairs and left Tucker on the bed, staring at the bedside table, on which were two small knives. Tucker was _so glad_  he had bought those. He glanced over at Wash's dresser and wondered if there was anything in there that would look good on him.

When Tucker came down the stairs wearing one of Wash's sweaters, Wash was making scrambled eggs and Ella was sitting on his head. He didn't turn his head, lest Ella fall off. "Hey. Breakfast will be ready soon. Have a seat." Still without turning, Wash gestured to the island and Tucker sat down. "Why's Ella on your head?" He asked. Ella mewed at him. "That's how we met. Don't you remember?" Tucker vaguely remembered walking into the animal shelter and seeing Wash with a kitten on his head. He was honestly more absorbed in the shining smile on his face in that moment.

Wash dumped all the eggs onto a plate and brought them to the table. He took Ella off his head and put her down on the ground. Tucker smiled at him. Wash did a double-take. "Are you- wearing my sweater?" he asked. Tucker nodded. "Yeah. What's wrong with that?" Wash shook his head quickly. "Nothing, nothing. It looks good," he said. Tucker got himself some eggs and a piece of toast. Ella nudged his foot, looking for attention.

They ate in silence, but Wash sent glances over at Tucker which didn't go unnoticed. He clearly had something to say, but rather than ask, Tucker just kept silent and hoped that Wash would say it anyway. He did.

"I think I love you," Said Wash, sitting up straight and gazing full-on into Tucker's brown eyes. Tucker put down his fork before he had the chance to drop it. "Really?" he asked, voice nothing more than a whisper. Wash nodded. "Really," he replied. Tucker here his hands up in the air. "Oh! Oh my god! Junior's gonna be so happy! I'M so happy! David!" Tucker leaned over the table and grabbed Wash's hands. "I love you too," he said, a smile on his face that held immeasurable warmth and happiness.

"So you want to go to my place and tell Junior?" Tucker asked, not able to hold in his excitement. Wash finished what he was chewing and said "I'm bringing Ella." Tucker shrugged. "'Kay," he said and hopped up from the table. Tucker had already finished breakfast and stood idly while Wash did the same. He took his time cleaning the plates and getting his coat and boots on, knowing full well that Tucker was getting impatient.

"Come on, come on, you're taking forever!" Tucker whined. Wash snorted. "You sound like a five year old. Calm down," Wash chastised. Tucker glared at him. "You're not my mom," he said. Wash shrugged. "I sure feel like one," he said as he wrapped Ella up in his coat and threw an arm around Tucker. "Let's go see Junior," he said as they both headed out into the snow.

__

* * *

 

Simmons woke up before Grif. For a while he just laid there, trying to match his breathing. There was snow outside, a fresh dusting of powdery flakes coating everything in white. Simmons wanted to stay until Grif woke up, but his stomach had other plans. Simmons got out of bed as quietly as he could and went into the kitchen to make pancakes. He didn't even like bacon, but he wished he had some. Grif liked bacon.

As if on cue, Grif emerged from the bedroom when the smell of breakfast reached him. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and yawned. He sat down at the island and just watched as Simmons moved around the kitchen, getting plates, trying to remember where he put the syrup and avoiding burning the pancakes. Dear god, the pancakes looked delicious. Grif remembered to thank Simmons for the copious amount he made and took three off the stack to start. They eased into light conversation, as was per usual and Grif almost didn't remember Simmons' gift. He glanced up at the clock mounted on the wall and his eyes went wide.

"Oh shit!" he shouted. Simmons startled. "We have somewhere to be in..." Grif checked his phone. "Twenty minutes." Simmons looked skeptical. "Don't worry, you'll love it. I promise," Grif assured him. Simmons picked up his and Grif's plates from the table and put them in the sink. "I better," he muttered. Grif looked hurt. "You doubt me, Cinnamon? How could you!" he faked a swoon and almost fell off his seat. Simmons giggled uncontrollably. "Hey, it's not funny. I could have hurt myself," Grif argued, even through he was smiling too.

"Okay, we really have to go now," Grif urged, grabbing onto Simmons' metal arm and pulling him towards the door. Simmons winced. "Ow ow ow, Grif stop!" he pulled his arm away and rubbed at it where the flesh met the metal. Grif looked concerned. "A-are you okay? I'm sorry, Cinnamon." Simmons shook his head. "It's okay. Just this stupid arm." He took Grif's hand and laced their fingers together. "Let's just go," he said.

Thankfully, the drive to the hospital was short. Simmons got increasingly more restless as he started to realize where they were headed. Once they arrived and his fears were confirmed, he turned to Grif and demanded to know why they were at the hospital. "Calm down. We're only going to be here for a few minutes," Grif said. "You don't been have to go in. I'll just... Get you your gift from inside." Simmons looked intrigued. "A gift?" he asked. Grif nodded. "Yep. Just sit right here and I'll be out in a minute," he said, opening the car door and stepping out. "It'll be fine," he mumbled on his way in.

Sarge was standing by the reception desk, leaning into Sam's half-embrace. Grif hated to admit it, but they looked... Cute. Sarge spotted him and immediately reached behind the desk to take something wrapped in tissue paper from the receptionist. "Grif!" he shouted needlessly. Grif walked up to them and eyed the thing. "Is this it?" he asked. Sarge nodded. "As sure as roses are red!" he said. Grif took the gift from Sarge and gave him a vague nod. "Okay... Bye," he said, starting to walk away. Sam coughed loudly. Grif turned around and saw Sam give him a pointed look.

Grif sighed. "Thanks," he mumbled. That was as good as it was going to get. Sam seemed to know this, so he nodded firmly and let Grif out from under his gaze. Grif walked back out as quickly as he could without running. Simmons was still waiting in the car when he got back, eyeing the tissue paper wrapped thing with curiosity. "What is it?" he asked. Grif thrust it into his arms. "Why don't you open it and find out, idiot?" he suggested. Simmons gave him a look and began peeling away the tissue paper. Watching Simmons' face light up with joy was the most precious thing Grif had ever seen. Simmons stared down at his brand-new 3D printed prosthetic. The perfect gift from... The perfect person.

"Oh my god, I love you!" Simmons shouted, throwing his arms around Grif's shoulders. He hugged him tight, not wanting to let go. Eventually, Grif managed to pry himself away. "Okay okay, I get it." He smiled. "I love you too," he mumbled, quiet enough so only Simmons could hear. "I'm glad you like it so much." Simmons shook his head in disbelief. "How could I not? This is perfect. Thank you so much." Simmons looked on the verge of tears. He opened his arms for another hug, but Grif didn't want to be subjected to another death crush so soon, so he instead got up on his tiptoes and gave Simmons a kiss. A nice one, modest enough for public. Technically, they weren't exactly in 'public', but his car had enough windows.

"I can't wait to go home and put this on," Simmons said, a huge smile on his face. Grif pulled out of the parking lot and headed back towards Simmons' apartment. He couldn't wait to get home either, but for a different reason.

_F I N_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking with me till the end. It was rough. This is the first fic I have ever written. I learned so much throughout the course of writing this. What to do, what NOT to do, how to better write interactions and dialogue. This is by no means perfect. Far from it. Some chapters, namely the earlier ones, are so bumpy and rough around the edges. Some parts, I hate. Some parts, I love. Writing this last chapter, I was running on 22% inspiration and more than once I just wanted to scrap it and start over. But I didn't. I persevered, and now this fic is complete! It was a wonderful learning curve for me and I hope you enjoyed this monster of a finale! I love you all and I look forward to writing many many more fics. ❤❤❤
> 
> If you liked this, consider checking out my other works if you haven't already and don't forget to leave kudos and comments. I know I tell you this all the time, but comments truly are the highest form of praise. Sure, kudos are great too, but leaving a comment speaks directly to the writer, makes them feel personally appreciated, and can brighten their day, wipe tears from their eyes and send away mental storm clouds. It's just nice to hear from you. ❤❤❤


End file.
